Fire Across Lylat
by SergeantLawson
Summary: Nobody wanted to believe war was on the horizon. Paralyzed, the politicians refused to face the truth until Corneria was set on fire. Corporations, PMCs and criminal syndicates alike were pulled into the flames as the years dragged on. For over half a decade, Lylat would degrade from a realm of joy and discovery to a shattered wasteland of iron and blood.
1. The Calm (Prologue)

Chapter One: The Calm

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Hello readers, both new and old! I know this is not what my veteran readers were expecting. Rest assured, I _will_ get back around to my main series, but for now… I'm just kind of _Uprising_ 'd out, ya know? Two years (and a quarter) is a long time to spend writing about the same universe, so I really need a break. I figured I would still write about something else to at least keep the gears turning for _Retribution_ 's eventual posting. Anyway, I thought I should pay my respects to the saga that bridged me to the more serious sector of gaming, and got me into fanfiction in the first place: _Star Fox_. If you haven't heard of it, then this fic probably isn't for you. This is essentially _Star Fox 64_ , but AU'd like I did with _Uprising_. No OC's (yet; that may change) but there are still plenty of deviations. Don't hate on the magic of fanfiction. Firstly, the Star Fox team are not mercenaries; they're an elite special ops squadron in the Cornerian Navy. Yeah, yeah, "BURN THE HERETIC!". Put away the pitchfork, will ya? I just thought it was unrealistic for four people to beat the shit out of the entire Venomian military. Realistically, the Cornerians themselves would've had a _much_ bigger hand in the war, so I wanted to make them more prevalent. In that light, it only makes sense to put Team SF in the Navy. Second are the characters. Slippy had me getting so many guys off of him that I wondered if he had posted nudes on the wrong site, so I'm stuffing him in the hangar bay and letting him do what he does best: mechanics. Peppy will be a guide/coordinator of sorts, like he was in Assault. As for who will pilot the four Arwings: Commander Fox McCloud, Lieutenant-Commander Falco Lombardi, Lieutenant Krystal Zonoc (a nod to general whitefur), and Junior Lieutenant Miyu Lynx. I want Krystal behind the stick of an Arwing for obvious plot reasons. As for Miyu, I always felt like she didn't get her fair shot in the series.

Before I wrap up this commencement address-sized AN, there are some thanks that need to go around. Firstly, EonEvolution for his "Lylat Wars" fic, which popped the idea for _Fire Across Lylat_ into my head in the first place. Next, the two authors who helped me transform this from a shell of a concept to reality: general whitefur and Xengo. They have been immeasurably helpful on this project and I can only imagine they will continue to aid me. So, thank you to both of you. Lastly, Cpt. Fox himself. He would be the man who hooked me on this site in the first place and the man who pushed me to start writing. You, sir, have been communally elevated to legend status around this archive, and that is a greatly deserved title.

Okay, I feel like I've rambled on enough. Enjoy!

000

The chestnut-furred vulpine struggled to stay awake. He had lost the feeling in his arms, but that tends to happen when they're chained to the wall above one's head. As of late, lifting that same head had become something of a Herculean effort. The fox somehow managed it, though, but he almost wished he hadn't as it only served to draw the attention of the room's two other occupants.

"Ah, James! Still awake, I see?" The apes stood from their chairs and looked their… guest… over once again. His grey Cornerian Navy flight suit sported several bloodstains and tears, and some of the cuts underneath looked terribly deep.

James McCloud swallowed, noting how even that action now caused him pain. The coppery taste of his own blood didn't help, either. "You know, Andross…" he managed to speak between breaths and cringes, "…we really need to talk about your bedside manner."

The ape chuckled humorlessly. "James, I don't know how many times I need to say this." He nodded to the Venomian soldier next to him, whom turned to the table and picked up the lone item on its surface: a machete. "Answer my questions, and _this_ …" the silent grunt gave the vulpine a good nick in the side, earning him a cry of pain, "…will stop."

McCloud spent the better part of the next minute panting to recover some measure of strength. "Well… then what do you want… to know?"

"Tell me everything you know about the Cornerian orbital defense grid. What they have, what weaknesses I can exploit."

James was no fool. He knew Andross would kill him either way; the only difference would be how long it took. After all of a split-second's deliberation, he made his final choice.

"Never."

Andross sighed, sounding almost saddened by the vulpine's response. "I see." The trooper sliced James across the stomach and the fox gave out a bloodcurdling yell in response, "There is only one thing left to do, then."

Unable to move any more, James let his head hang down as he spoke what he knew were his last words. "You… will never… rule… Corneria."

Andross exhaled through his nose. "No, I won't." Andross held his hand out. The soldier handed him the bloodstained blade. He raised the machete high, and James closed his eyes. "I WILL BURN IT TO THE GROUND!"

000

 _Five Years Later…_

The sun was just edging its way over the horizon as Fox McCloud removed his pilot's helmet and popped the canopy on his state-of-the-art Arwing starfighter. The vulpine didn't even bother waiting for one of the flight techs to bring a ladder, opting instead to jump the seven feet to the hangar floor. He landed in a practiced crouch, and threw in a front roll just for dramatic effect. Fox stood and dusted off his flight suit. The flight technician, a hound wearing his position's regulation yellow reflective vest and matching crash helmet, took an instinctual half-step back upon seeing the pilot cannonball off the side of his ship. The tech hadn't been told who would be landing (he never was), but once he recognized the vulpine's face, the silver oak leaves on his collar were unnecessary in denoting his rank.

The hound snapped off a crisp salute. "Commander."

Fox simply nodded, signaling the canine to drop his salute. "Sorry about that, Corporal. Should've told you I was jumping, huh?"

The vulpine's laid back manner caught him off-guard; most personnel of McCloud's rank lived, breathed and spoke by the book. "It's alright, sir."

"Could you check on a few things for me?"

Had a commander just _asked_ him something? "Uh… certainly, sir."

"Thruster response seemed a little sluggish. Also, my ECM system wasn't coming online."

"I'll have a look, sir. But," he added with a smile, "I'm sure you could shake enemy missiles with or without your electronic countermeasures."

Fox shrugged. "I appreciate the compliment, but I'd still rather be able to scramble their guidance systems."

"Yes, sir."

"See what you can do. Thanks, Corporal." At that, Fox strode out of the hangar. He wound through the streets and roadways of the Fort Willis military base, making his way to his team's barracks. At some point he nodded at a troop of marines in tee shirts as they passed him on their morning run. After a few more minutes of walking he reached his team's barracks and pushed open the door. Unsurprisingly, no one was there to greet him; it was Sunday after all. No one else would be stupid enough to come in, check in, and God forbid, actually _work_ on their day off. _Am I just that obsessed with flying? I mean, it's practically in my blood, so…_

The sound of glass shattering made him jump. Instinctively, he loosened his stance and crept quietly towards the kitchen. Fox really doubted a terrorist had snuck onto the base for the express purpose of breaking his kitchen window, but caution had served him well before. As he poked his head around the corner, though, he saw a certain sapphire vixen with her back turned to him whip out a rag and kneel down. The heavenly smell of coffee wafted into his nostrils, but said coffee was currently all over the floor amid countless miniature shards of glass. Fox groaned inwardly about the loss of his coffee maker, but he knew he couldn't be angry with her, let alone _stay_ that way for any period of time. Still, he'd have a little fun since she hadn't noticed him.

Fox crept across the kitchen until he was merely inches behind her, leaned down right next to her ear and adopted a suitably loud voice. "Krystal?" She shrieked in surprise and very nearly went through the roof before whirling around to face him. Now _that_ , he found quite amusing. It was getting harder by the second to hide his shit-eating grin, and the way she glared at him wasn't helping in that regard.

"Jesus, Fox, don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry," he said innocently, though they both knew he was anything but.

"Rest assured, _commander_ , you're going to pay for that one." Her resolved tone sent a trickle of concern down his spine, but he decided to ignore it.

Looking her over, he noted a very large coffee stain on the front of her mottled grey camouflage fatigues. "What happened?"

"Gravity happened," she mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

Fox jerked his head towards the bedrooms. "Why don't you change? I'll clean this up, and then we can go get some real coffee."

She arched an eyebrow, "Starnova?"

"Expensive choice, lieutenant. Give me five to clean the floor and put on some BDUs."

Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Fox was in a fresh set of "Greys," as the military called them, and making his way out the door. As per regulations, Fox and Krystal put on their eight-point caps when they stepped outside. Fox twirled his key ring around his left index finger as they neared his car. Just for kicks, he flicked the ring off his left finger, let it flip in midair before catching it on his right. Krystal muttered something about showoffs, which only served as encouragement for him to do it again. That done, Fox unlocked his black sedan and sat down behind the wheel. Once Krystal was securely riding shotgun, he started the engine and pulled out of the lot. From there it was barely a minute's drive to the main gate, which was much more heavily guarded than normal. He flashed his ID to the armed guard, whom nodded and signaled for the second MP to raise the barrier while the third and fourth hounds moved out of the way.

"What was that about?" Krystal asked, jerking her thumb back towards the gate as Fox steered his way onto one of the main roads into Corneria City.

"What was what about?" Fox replied, confused.

"Usually we've got the rent-a-cop equivalent of Pigma Dengar reclining in the security booth. Fox, those were _four_ Marine Corps MPs, fully armored and carrying blaster rifles. You don't find that the slightest bit odd?"

"Well, it _is_ abnormal," he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as they entered the downtown area, "I wouldn't worry, though." He turned on the radio.

 _"…the Cornerian Defense Force is on high alert due to increased Venomian military activity. General Pepper met with the Federation Congress this morning for discussions on reactionary measures, and has confirmed a follow-up appointment with Katina's military leaders, scheduled later this week. In other news: pirate activity continues to spread throughout the Sargasso region. Multiple Cornerian Navy patrol squadrons were targeted in hit-and-run attacks last night, and the Seventh Fleet has been deployed in response–"_ Fox grumbled and shut off the radio, earning him a concerned look from Krystal in the passenger seat.

"Are you still sure we shouldn't worry?"

The orange vulpine exhaled through his nose. " _If_ real fighting does break out, which I doubt it will, it'll be in Sector X or somewhere else in deep space. Despite what the Venomians claim, the Cornerian Intelligence Agency says they don't have even half the manpower required to start a war with Katina, let alone Corneria. Hell, they can barely keep a foothold on Macbeth against civilian resistance."

The blue vixen thinned her lips. "And you believe those CIA spooks?"

Fox took his eyes of the road and made eye contact with her as he flipped on his turn signal and made a right. "Lieutenant Krystal Zonoc, you're starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist." Despite the inclusion of her rank there was no hint of command in his voice, just mild annoyance.

Krystal looked back out the windshield and at the rapidly approaching Starnova coffee shop. "Sorry. It's just that… I just worry sometimes, you know?"

"I completely understand," he reassured her as he zeroed in on a parking spot (which, as always, was much too tight) and threw his car into park, "You can't dwell on it so much, though; it's not healthy."

"I can't help it," Krystal continued their conversation as they got out of the car and stretched, "There's this feeling I can't shake. Call it foreshadowing; I just _feel_ that something very bad is going to happen, and right now we aren't prepared."

"Krystal, nothing's going to happen." He dropped his voice to a soft tone and leveled his eyes with hers. "I promise." After holding his eyes longer than what was considered professional, she exhaled and nodded. Fox smiled, happy at having successfully put her back in a good mood. "Now how about we grab some of that coveted overpriced coffee?"

000

Krystal stared in horror at the receipt as she read through the numbers. She turned to Fox and whispered, "7 credits for a cup of coffee?"

Fox grinned back down at her, "You wanted Starnova. You're buying." The look she gave him made Fox instantly regret his words.

Krystal turned back to the cashier. "Uh, could I get two chocolate croissants with that, please? Oh, and an extra shot in the latté, too."

The lynx behind the counter nodded, "Certainly. That brings your total up from §7 to… 16.50." She looked over at Fox, "And will you be paying, sir?" _Oh God, please don't._

"Yes," was the sapphire vixen's instant reply. She slowly looked back up at her teammate, "He will." With no real choice in the matter, Fox dug his holocard out of his pocket and touched it against the scanner. When the machine beeped happily, he felt as if a piece of his soul had just been transferred to the merciless corporate caffeine juggernaut's bank account. Fox gave her a 'what the hell was that for' look as they made the short walk to the other counter to pick up their drinks. "I told you you'd regret scaring me this morning," she said self-assuredly.

 _Well, I can't really say anything to that, can I?_

"No," the blue vixen said with an amused glint in her eyes, "You can't."

 _Dammit. Sometimes I forget she's a telepath._ Her tail gave a happy swish, having heard that as well, which only made his droop down to the floor. Fox wisely resolved to just stay quiet as they grabbed their steaming coffee cups and sat down at a table by the window.

Krystal started a new conversation as they pulled in their chairs behind them. "So why did you take your Arwing out this morning? We're a SpecDiv squadron," she added, referring to the Navy's term for its special ops pilots, "We don't go on patrols."

The vulpine was confused as to how exactly she knew about his earlier escapade, but then remembered he had come into the barracks still in his flight suit with helmet in hand. "I just wanted to make sure she's firing on all turbines," he replied with a shrug.

Krystal rolled her eyes, "Fox McCloud, you just can't stay out of the air, can you?"

"Well, the thrusters were a little slow on response time and my ECM jammers were throwing up warnings."

That piqued her interest, evident by how she leaned forward with arched eyebrows. "Fox, the failure rate of those things is less than two percent. Do you know what caused it?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea, but I've got the techs looking into it." Fox glanced out the window and saw a curious pair of civilians looking up into the sky. He couldn't see what attracted their attention, so he paid them no mind.

"Well, that's good," the vixen commented as she took a long swig from her latté, "But that might not be the only problem."

The vulpine cocked his head to one side. "And how do you figure that?"

"The X-03 series Arwing is fresh from R&D and full of highly experimental technology. Most of that tech, top-of-the-line it may be, still isn't quite tried and true yet."

Fox nodded slowly, "Okay…"

"Even the new diagnostics system is still in its infancy stages, which means the lab boys haven't even worked the kinks out of _that_ yet. So the very thing that tells us when things are broken could be broken itself."

"You're worried there are other things it hasn't detected."

Krystal gave a firm nod. "Exactly. The last thing I want is for something to happen to you… or any of us, for that matter."

Fox smiled reassuringly, "I've said it before and I'll say it again: don't worry. I'm sure I'll be just fine." He looked up when Krystal didn't respond and noticed her gaze was locked out the window. "Krystal, what's wrong?"

"There are a lot more people out there." Her tone sounded oddly distant. More than a little concerned, the vulpine followed her gaze and his eyes widened. There were easily twenty of them, probably more, all fixated on that damnable unseen object. People were even stopping their cars in the middle of the street and stepping out to have a look.

Fox's chair scraped against the floor as he stood and snatched his eight-point cap off the table. "I'm going out there." Krystal mirrored his actions and followed him. They both tugged their caps down over their heads as they cleared the door. As the uniformed pair neared the ever-expanding crowd, Fox adopted that commanding tone soldiers are famous for. "Commander McCloud, Cornerian Federation Navy. What's going on?"

The hare closest to him tugged on his arm and pointed up. "Can you tell what that is, sir?" Fox and Krystal followed his finger and saw the cause of all this commotion: a small black blob in the sky, barely visible but slowly growing larger. There was only one logical conclusion.

"It's a ship," the vulpine said thoughtfully, "And it looks like it's getting bigger."

Krystal stepped in, "Not bigger. It's getting closer." Fox winced; that probably wasn't the best thing to say out loud. The wave of rampant conversation that rapidly overtook the crowd confirmed his assessment.

"All right, all right," he said, raising his arms to once again grab the people's attention, "I need everyone to calm down until we figure this out." Once the situation was relatively contained, he turned to Krystal, his tone all business now that they had a real problem. "Lieutenant, get on your comlink and see what you can find."

"Aye, aye." Krystal fired up her wristcom and was met with an immediate barrage of chatter from the auditory inserts in her ear canals. The sapphire vixen tipped her head down and closed her eyes to focus on sifting through the maelstrom of information. "Lots of static here; can't get anything tangible." Fox didn't respond, but the rest of those present had gone quiet hoping to pick up some of the conversation. "All frequencies have gone absolutely mental; there's just so much chatter–"

"Krystal?" Fox cut in, his tone wavering in worry, "Is that one of ours?"

She snapped her head up and squinted. It took her less than two seconds to confirm Fox's question. "Yes, it is. And something is definitely wrong."

"Any idea what?"

Her tone showed a hint of alarm. "It's aiming straight for the deck, and it's not slowing down."

McCloud nodded. "Okay, let's break this herd up. Then we can find out _exactly_ what is going on."

"Right." Krystal turned around to face the crowd, which had by now pulled in more than forty people, "Alright, everyone, we need you to disperse. We're trying to figure out what's going on…"

Her voice faded out of Fox's ears as he focused one hundred percent on the rogue aircraft. It was an AL5 Bottlenose, the standard Cornerian fighter craft; he could tell that much from the noise. There were training ops running all the time, especially this close to Fort Willis, one of the largest military bases on Corneria's surface. So Fox was content to chalk it up to just that.

That is, until the fighter banked ever so slightly to the left and then cut abruptly back to the right. The plane's new course, and its now alarming proximity to the ground given its speed, allowed Fox to see the true cause of its odd heading. A trail of thick blue smoke, shot through with streaks of inky black, billowed from the AL5's single engine. The starfighter's left wing was wreathed in flames, and Fox could only guess at the laser scoring along its hull that such an attack would surely leave. He could easily imagine the pilot, his face scrunched and his teeth bared from pure adrenaline as he desperately tried to pull out of the deadly dive. The vulpine realized with equal horror that the fighter's trajectory would bring it down in very close proximity to he and Krystal… and the now fifty-odd innocent civilians cluelessly milling about right next to them. _Holy shit._

Fox whirled around and bellowed, "CLEAR THE AREA! MOVE!" His alarmed and commanding tone had the desired effect: everyone looked up, realized what was coming, and scattered like roaches. Yes, they were panicking and screaming, but at least they were running. Fox hazarded a glance back up.

The downed fighter was now only seconds away, and the scream of its powerful engine was deafening. He knew the shockwave would toss anyone standing in its path like a ragdoll. His instincts told him to hit the deck, but he saw that Krystal stood motionless, eyes glued to the doomed fighter. It was a split-second decision. It was either him or…

"Krystal!" He sprinted at her, arms outstretched. Fox hit his target perfectly and shoved her to the ground a little rougher than he would have liked, sending her cap flying off her head in the process. Before he could even think about anything else, the fighter crashed full-speed into the Starnova building. The coffee shop's windows shattered from the impact's force. Instantly, Fox was knocked into the air by the laws of physics. He sailed across the street like a human cannonball and slammed back first into a parked car. Fox felt his head snap back and strike the passenger's side window. From there the vulpine slid back down to the pavement with an equal lack of dignity, fading in and out of consciousness as sirens wailed from every direction.

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I have decided to include a Codex at the end of each chapter, where I can give in-depth descriptions on lore, technology, locations, ships, organizations, weapons, gear and more. Both canon and AU items will be listed, and some canon items and plot points have been tweaked to give more life this new universe. This should help the story move a bit more quickly because I will be able to write out longer descriptions down here instead of killing the tension mid-battle.

Most items will be listed in the order they appear in the chapter, allowing ease of navigation. Codex entries will be largely spoiler-free (though I can't make any guarantees), so if you want additional information on something just go ahead and pop down here.

 **CODEX**

*: Visit the _Star Fox: Event Horizon_ website for additional information on marked entries

 **Cornerian Federation:** The Lylat System's long-standing central power. Corneria is the system's most technologically advanced planet, largely due to its multitude of clean energy sources: mass solar power from one of Lylat's two suns, dozens of clean-burning nuclear fusion reactors, and hundreds (if not thousands) of geothermal wells dotting the planet's surface. Free quality education, a strong competitive economy and a comfortable lifestyle all ensure the populace stays happy. While the superpower is officially known as the Cornerian Federation, the relationship between the home world and her colonies is that of an alliance, rather than direct control. Cornerian military bases, space stations, embassies and other installations are present on nearly all of the colonies, but each planet still maintains its own armed forces and enjoys the right to self-determination.

 **Venomian Republic:** Like many of history's oppressive regimes, Venom's official title is deceptive; its government is anything but democratic. In fact, a government hardly exists at all. Venom split from the Cornerian Federation ten years ago, two years after Dr. Andross Oikonny's appointment to the planet's office of Chancellor. At the time the link was severed Venom had yet to establish major urban centers, so it was all too easy to transform the planet from a colony to a pure military power. In the following decade, political tensions were constantly hot between Corneria and its rapidly emerging rival. After Eladard allied itself with Venom, Eladard had the military security it needed to keep its mining operations running, and Venom had more than enough resources to quintuple its military size. Which it did, although secretly. Following its military buildup, Venom moved in and annexed Macbeth, a planet second in raw resources only to Eladard. Now, Corneria and her allies have just been locked into a war with the Venomian Republic. Only time will reveal the victor.

 **Arwing:** Developed by Arspace Dynamics under a commission from the Cornerian armed forces, the Arwing Project's aim was to develop the ultimate starfighter. The X-03 series is the project's third generation of craft. Faster, tougher, and deadlier than any other known fightercraft, the Arwing is the undisputed champion of both sky and space. The X-03 was designed with variability in mind: units can be custom-ordered to almost any specifications. Unfortunately, due to the Arwing's astronomical price, the Cornerian military is forced to reserve them for its most elite units.

Note: specs for the different models are covered towards the end of chapter 2.

 **ECM:** Electronic Countermeasures. An electronic warfare suite built into the Arwing and some larger Cornerian vessels, most notably AWAC (Airborne Warning and Control) craft, command ships and corvettes. Although the effects of different ECM systems can vary, the base concept remains the same: disrupt (or "jam") the tracking systems of enemy guided munitions, most notably missiles, and cause them to lose their targets.

 **Fort Willis Joint Military Base:** Dozens of military bases dot Corneria's surface, some for a specific branch and others "joint" bases. Fort Willis is one of the latter: members from all five branches of the military; Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and CDF; take up residence within its walls. Named after the General of the Air Force from two centuries past, Fort Willis is truly unique. The ratio between its size and staff make Fort Willis by far the most densely populated military installation on the planet. Due to its proximity to Corneria City, the planet's capital, the government capped off the base's expansion at 290 square kilometers (112 square miles). This forced the military to make use of every available inch, and the end result looked like its own militarized city-state. The expansion didn't stop there: once they could no longer build _out_ , they built _up_. Now, an astounding 120,000 Cornerian troops call Fort Willis home, though the vast majority of that number are always out on deployment. When at full capacity, Fort Willis houses 55,000 Army troops, 15,000 Marines, 30,000 Navy spacers, 13,000 Air Force pilots, and 7,000 CDF personnel.

 **Starnova:** Really? Are you so simple-minded that you had to come down here because your sadly limited brain capacity was incapable of forming a connection between "Starnova" and "Starbucks"? You should be ashamed of yourself.

 **BDU / "Greys":** Battle Dress Uniform. A general umbrella term for military service uniforms, excluding formal dress variants. Material, style, color and pattern vary between branches, but each branch still uses multiple uniforms. For example, the Cornerian Navy issues the Type V Urban Uniform to sailors based on the ground in major cities. Commonly known as "Greys", the UU5 is of the famous blouse-and-trouser makeup, with typical urban black and grey colors in a pattern of slashes and blotches. Note: look up "ABU uniform" and imagine that pattern in urban camo colors; that's _exactly_ how I picture it.

 **Cornerian Defense Force (CDF):** The last line of defense against attacks on Corneria, the CDF grew out of various nations' National Guard services when the Cornerian government went global. A strictly defensive force, save for extraordinary circumstances. The CDF maintains jurisdiction over Corneria, its surrounding space, and the Meteo asteroid belt. A note to other authors: the CDF is _not_ an overarching term for the Cornerian military. I see this mistake all the time.

 **Colonial Republic of Katina:** The second most populated world in the Lylat System. Unlike the deceptively named Venomian society, Katina is a true republic. Katina was Corneria's first colony and is now its closest ally. The two planets' systems of government are extremely similar as a result. Katina's military is the third largest in the Lylat System, with Corneria in the number one spot and Venom as a close second.

 **Sargasso:** A Class B asteroid field orbiting Solar, the Sargasso region is composed of the planet Eladard's remains, after it was destroyed by excessive Venomian mining operations. Solar flares and other heat waves, while not constant, are common enough to have dissuaded both Corneria and Venom from establishing a permanent presence in the area. Although the Sargasso region is officially Cornerian space, its solar volatility has resulted in the Navy restricting its operations there to occasional small patrols. This has made Sargasso a relatively lawless region; a hotbed for rogues, insurgents, and pirates. There are rumors of a space station, as well as a sizeable fleet, specially built and retrofitted to survive the harsh conditions, though this has not been officially confirmed.

 **Sector X:** A sector of deep space. Sector X is composed almost entirely of a large Xenon gas cloud, which gives it its conspicuous indigo hue. The zone's high concentration of Xenon and other gases, as well as sporadic electromagnetic disturbances, are known to cause issues with scanning equipment.

 **Macbeth:** The Lylat System's primary mining colony. Since Venom's annexation of the planet, its inhabitants have been forced into slave labor. A Venomian fleet blockades the colony from orbit, preventing citizens from leaving and relief efforts from arriving. The world's people live in extreme poverty, and many suffer from smoke inhalation and other debilitating conditions brought on by long days of arduous labor and constant beatings at the hands of sadistic Venomian guards. Horrendous injuries are reported almost daily. Many a worker has fallen into a pool of molten metal; others have had entire limbs crushed or severed by the heartless gears, teeth and blades of factory machinery. Cornerian Intelligence has recently intercepted multiple reports from the Venomian garrison of explosions at a number of factories as a result of "deliberate acts of sabotage". In reality, conditions have become so disturbing and unbearable that factory workers rig their own machines to blow, engineering mass voluntary suicides just to escape the traumatic remnants of their shattered lives. There are a few small bands of rebels and insurgents; fringe elements that conduct minor acts of defiance such as ambushing Venomian patrol squads. The CIA assists in training the rebels, but the Cornerian government is unable to do more to help until the planet can be liberated.

 **Cornerian Intelligence Agency (CIA):** An interplanetary Cornerian government agency tasked with gathering intelligence and conducting espionage. Being one of the government's more secluded "cloak and dagger" agencies, the CIA attracts much attention from conspiracy theorists and a number of politicians. While officially restricted to interplanetary operations, the CIA is from time to time accused of involvement in questionable events on Cornerian soil. Given just how badly the CIA dropped the ball in regards to measuring the Venomian threat, the question has been raised of whether to remove the current Director, a former Army officer named Reinhardt Shears, from office.

 ***AL5 Bottlenose:** The Cornerian armed forces' current standard-issue fighter. Armed with twin alternating laser cannons housed in the sides of the fuselage and eight MRAM (Medium-Range Aerial Missile) missiles mounted under the wings, the AL5 is an excellent air superiority platform. The AL5 is quick for a single-engine craft and adequately armored given its speed. Like most small fighters, though, its lack of kinetic barriers makes it vulnerable to heavier impacts. The AL5 lacks heavy weapons, so pilots are advised to avoid engaging enemy capital ships if possible.


	2. Coming In Hot

Chapter 2: Coming In Hot

000

Krystal pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, letting out a hiss of pain as she did so. The vixen glanced down at herself and located the cause of her discomfort: a thin line of blood trickled out of a small wound in the right side of her muzzle, where she had taken the brunt of her fall. _My fall… oh God._ The memory hit her with the force of a nova bomb. Instantly, Krystal was on her feet. She looked left and right, taking in the newborn war zone around her. Cornerian military aircraft did battle with enemy fighters above, which she could only assume were Venomian. Sirens and car alarms blared warnings that echoed off of buildings and skyscrapers for miles. All around her were broken glass and twisted metal.

And then she remembered who had knocked her down.

Her gaze darted around, frantically searching for the orange vulpine. When she turned around, her eyes settled on him and her heart skipped a beat. He was slumped against a red sedan, his legs spread unevenly. She took in the rest of his state as she sprinted for him at top speed. The spider webbed crack in the passenger side window and the way his head hung down limply certainly made for a bad sign. Krystal skidded to a stop over him and knelt down. He wasn't dead, thank God; the vixen could tell that much from his breathing. Krystal grabbed two handfuls of his uniform and shook him, yelling his name as her heart fired like an assault rifle.

000

Somewhere in the back of his mind Fox knew he had been injured, but it was just so hard to think. His vision was a blurry haze, as if the world were underwater. A myriad of muffled sounds made their way to his ears, none of them discernable. He was about to fade into unconsciousness again when the acrid scent of smoke forced its way into his nostrils. His nose twitched in response and his senses ever so slowly began returning. Fox could have sworn he heard his name being called, but he was drowsy enough that he couldn't do much about it. In his detached state he felt someone grabbing him by his BDUs, shaking him frantically. As his vision gradually came back into focus, he could tell they were military from the uniform they wore. When he read the person's nametag, everything warped back to reality. Adrenaline shot through his system, giving the vulpine the strength he needed to start moving.

Fox groaned and coughed as he sat up and made eye contact. "Krystal?"

The vixen loosened her grip on his blouse. "Oh, thank God," she exhaled, allowing herself a split-second of relief before getting back to the matter at hand. "We need to move. Now."

He nodded. "Right. Little help?" Krystal nodded in return and took a half-step back. She grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him off the ground. The vulpine cricked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "We should get back to Fort Willis ASAP."

Krystal shook her head. "Parking lot's gone. Your car, too."

He gave the pavement a kick. "Shit. Well, how are we going to–" Fox trailed off when he saw a black and blue police car pull up and stop. The CCPD officer, a raven, stepped out of his car and jogged up to the pair.

"You two okay?" he asked, clearly agitated but still knowing his duty.

"Yeah," Fox replied, "Just a few scrapes and burns; we'll be fine."

The officer continued, "Can you help me with the wounded out here? Paramedics are en route but they're still a few minutes out."

Krystal regrettably shook her head and tapped the wings sewn above her left breast pocket. "We're pilots. The biggest difference we can make is in the air–" they all cringed as yet another explosion ripped through the sky. "And right now I'd say they need all the help they can get."

"Where are you stationed?"

"Fort Willis."

"Take my cruiser," the avian replied instantly, jerking his thumb behind him to his car, "It'll get you there a lot faster." Fox opened his mouth to voice a question, but the cop cut him off, "Just go! I can get another ride."

Krystal and Fox nodded and took off for the black and blue interceptor. As he passed the policeman, Fox stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

The raven nodded and ushered Fox on his way. "Get airborne and give 'em hell."

Fox resumed his run to the police car where Krystal awaited him. The vulpine moved to the passenger's side and popped the door. "You'd better drive."

She nodded. "Right." The two foxes sat down, shut the doors and did up their seatbelts. Krystal hit the gas and the souped up interceptor leapt forward. The policeman gave the pair a good-luck salute as they drove off.

"I'll see if I can raise Lombardi and Lynx," Fox informed his teammate as she made a hard right turn. He touched the power switch on his wristcom and dialed his second-in-command's number. "Come on, come on, pick up," he grit out. Krystal slammed on the brakes as traffic came to a sudden stop in front of them. She flicked on the emergency lights and blipped the sirens in an effort to clear the way. Despite the general panic, the cars managed to part just far enough for them to squeeze through. Krystal shot through the gap at lightning speed, and Falco's voice came through Fox's auditory inserts at the same time.

 _"McCloud?"_

Fox held his wristcom up to his muzzle, since he lacked his headset. "Lombardi? Falco, do you read?"

The avian replied, _"I hear ya, Commander, but the connection's sketchy."_

"Where are you?"

 _"Fort Willis, about two hundred meters West of our hangar. I've got Lieutenant Lynx with me, and some CDF pilots too."_

Fox double-checked, "Miyu's with you?"

 _"Yeah. The base is gettin' hit hard; we had to dig in before we made it to the hangar."_ Something awfully similar to an explosion served to accentuate his words, _"We're waiting on you and Krystal before we make a run for our fighters."_

"How are we holding up? I can't get anything on the major channels." The vulpine flinched as a fire engine barreled past them on the right.

 _"It's bad. Don't know how much longer we can – aw crap. Incoming!"_ More explosions resounded though Fox's ear canals, and then there was nothing but static.

"Falco?" he yelled, "Falco, do you copy? Falco! Damn it!" Fox drove his fist against the door in frustration.

"What's wrong?" Krystal demanded as she expertly weaved between cars, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Fort Willis is under attack. Go! Go!" She floored it, knowing they were less than a half-mile away. Thanks to their newfound speed, it was just over a minute before the military base came into view.

Or what was left of it, anyway.

Krystal stopped the car and put a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God."

Fox's blood boiled at the carnage before them. Venomian Invader fighters swarmed all over the base like buzzards. A plethora of alarms and sirens blared out their respective warnings. Most of the buildings had been leveled, or were on fire, or both. The exceptions were the hangars, munitions stockpiles and other vital structures, and that was only thanks to their thick armor plating. No friendly aircraft were to be found, but the smoldering wrecks of many a once-defiant fighter littered the runways and streets. The majority of Fort Willis' anti-air guns and missile batteries had been knocked out of commission; blasted into scrap and then pounded again for good measure. Those fortunate enough to survive this long were barely hanging on by a thread. A few lucky marines here and there had managed to get a hold of rocket launchers and other heavy hitters, but most were stuck with nothing but the rifle in their hands and the armor on their chests. That wasn't saying much against aircraft grade weaponry. _Jesus, it's a slaughterhouse!_

The vulpine cursed inwardly. "We'll never make it to the hangars in one piece."

Krystal closed her eyes as the Venomian pilots vaporized another squad of marines. "Any ideas?"

Fox nodded. "Yeah; one." He fired up his wristcom again, this time over the general emergency channel. "This is Commander McCloud, Cornerian Navy, calling any available allied aircraft. Please respond, over." It only took a few seconds for the replies to start coming in.

 _"This is Talon Squadron. We're available, over."_

 _"Eagle Squadron, on call and awaiting orders, over."_

 _"Magnum Flight here. What do you need, Commander? Over."_

"Fort Willis is under siege, and we've taken heavy casualties. I've got pilots on the ground, but we're pinned down. Draw off these Invaders long enough to get us airborne, and we can turn the tides."

 _"All due respect, sir, they've got us outnumbered three to one over there… at least. It's a meat grinder in that airspace; we'd just be giving them something to shoot at."_

"Not for long. Let me be clear; you are speaking to the CO of special ops group Star Fox. Get us off the ground, and we can save a lot of lives."

There was a brief pause on the other end. _"Come again, Commander? Did you say Star Fox?"_

"That's affirmative."

 _"Roger that, sir. We'll punch a hole for you. Eagle, Magnum, form up on Talon. Stay low."_

 _"Understood, Talon One."_

 _"Talon, Eagle. We'll take the right flank."_

 _"We're inbound, Commander. ETA four minutes; you'd better get moving. Talon One, out."_

"McCloud, out." Fox lowered his wristcom. "We've got reinforcements on the way to draw off the Venomians. We can get into the air if we make it to the hangars in time; floor it!"

Fox tightened his grip on the door handle as Krystal did just that. The police cruiser shot through the front gates like a bullet, tearing past the security booth and leaving skid marks in its wake. Krystal bared her teeth, wrenching the steering wheel left and right as Venomian fighter craft took potshots at their vehicle.

Krystal raised her voice over the engine, "I'm cutting through the barracks complex! We might be able to lose them in there."

Fox took one look out the window and his eyes widened. "No; go left, Krystal! Now!" The vixen trusted his word and spun the wheel counter-clockwise, pulling the handbrake and letting the back end drift out. She checked the rear view mirror: an Invader II pounded the concrete with red laser fire where they had been mere seconds ago.

"Thanks," she said between breaths. Fox didn't have time to give the customary response. There were much more pressing matters at hand, like the other two Venomian attack jets coming straight for them. Krystal gunned the throttle, answering the pilots' challenge.

"Krystal!" Fox yelled, more than a little agitated as he snapped his gaze between his teammate and the oncoming Invaders. "Krystal, they'll tear us apart!"

"Just hold on to something!" The sapphire vixen bent over the steering wheel and ground her boot into the accelerator pedal. The police interceptor's digital speedometer pushed into the eighties as the Venomian craft dipped low and opened fire. Angry red lasers pulverized both sides of the street in front of them. Krystal roared a defiant battle cry as the crimson beams reflected out of her aquamarine eyes. The fighter on the left released a dumb-fire missile. Oddly enough, there was only one thought on Fox's mind.

 _So this is how I die?_

Krystal strained out her vocal response. "No… it's… not!" She jerked the car into the left jet's path, making for the gap in its wall of lasers when it had shot off the missile. Krystal eased a few centimeters off the throttle, adjusting her speed to perfectly time her move.

The missile, however, had other ideas. Its dumb-fire design meant it didn't track them, but it still hit the ground relatively close to the disturbingly lucky police car. Close enough for the blast to negate most of Krystal's control over the vehicle's path. Slamming on the brakes was all she could do to ensure their inevitable crash didn't kill them instantly. But as they were sent careening up onto the sidewalk and towards what remained of a barracks wall, they both knew this was really going to hurt.

000

Falco was getting really tired of being holed up in this ruined barracks. The fact that the soldiers it belonged to were probably all dead didn't help matters, either. Banishing those thoughts from his mind, he turned his blaster rifle on its side to check the power level. _Seven percent. Not gonna last me much longer._ The avian called out an ammo check to the other pilots; nine in total if he excluded himself. Their weapons weren't faring much better.

"Sir?" one of the younger pilots, a female canine, addressed him. Falco debated giving her an earful of how much he hated that honorific title, and authority in general for that matter (which put him in an ironic position). When Falco got a look at her though, he decided against it. The black lab looked like she was fresh out of the academy, so Falco's planned derogatory comments probably wouldn't help her stress levels.

Instead, he settled for a simple: "Yeah?"

"Do…" she swallowed the knot in her throat and lowered her voice, "Do you think Commander McCloud and Lieutenant Zonoc are going to make it?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "You're worried they won't?"

"There's just so many of them. How can two people get through all of this?" A nearby explosion and cries of the wounded seemed to make a point.

Falco took a breath through his nose to compose his next words. "I've known McCloud for a long time, and Zonoc's practically as capable as he is. If anyone can get through this gauntlet, they can."

The shadow of a Venomian fighter drifted past. The ten Cornerian pilots flattened themselves against the rubble to avoid being seen. "You really think so?" the Labrador queried, just above a whisper.

In a rare gesture of reassurance, Falco put a hand on her shoulder. "They'll be here. And then we're going to get airborne, throw these guys off our planet, and run them all the way back to Venom." The Labrador swallowed again and nodded, satisfied for the time being. Looking around, Falco's words appeared to have reassured the others as well. That is, except for the pilot who was out of earshot, on the second floor looking out for any trouble coming their way. Said pilot made her appearance gracefully hopping and sliding down what had been a staircase. She landed in a crouch and was quick to stand and dust off her flight suit. The lynx sported a light brown pelt with black spots, and her eyes were a striking bright amethyst.

Falco got straight down to business. "What did you see, Miyu?"

"Some Invaders are breaking off of their runs. They're all grouping up and shooting at something on the ground. Whoever they are, they're moving fast."

Falco stood. "Show me." Miyu nodded and scrambled back up the rubble. Falco told the others to stay put as he followed her. A good moment later they were crouched down and looking out a second-story window.

Miyu handed him a set of binos and pointed out to the area in question. "Around 800 meters out, North by North-West."

"Got it." Falco made the necessary adjustments to bring the view into focus. He could hear the noise of a car's engine, though he lacked visual confirmation. What he _could_ see were the half dozen Invaders dogging it. "You think that's them?" he asked, eyes still on the pursuing Venomian aircraft.

"I hope so. Or maybe it's General Pepper, leading the charge to glorious victory." They both shared a chuckle at that despite the situation all around them. _Damn it feels good to laugh._

Miyu tapped his shoulder. "Hey, ditch those binos. They're coming right down our street."

Falco looked to the right and spied two Invader III bombers intent on meeting the still unidentified allies halfway. "And they've just pissed off the big guns."

The lynx whistled and shook her head in wonder. "Man, what did they _do_? I mean, it has to be them, right?"

"It might not matter soon," Falco muttered, his face grim. The two pilots looked on as laser fire scored the roadway all around the uncannily resilient squad car. _They might actually make it._ The avian's hopes were immediately dashed as he saw one of the bombers loose a missile. "Miyu, missile!"

Miyu spun around and shouted, "Everybody down!" She promptly followed her own orders, hitting the deck facedown and covering her head with her hands. Falco did the same.

The missile screamed through the air.

Lasers fired.

Tires screeched.

After what felt like an eternity, the explosion went off, shaking the building to its foundations. The car slammed into the barracks right below Falco and Miyu. Dust rained down on them from the impact, and then everything was silent. All ten pilots stayed facedown on the floor in case the Invaders returned to confirm their kill. As the seconds ticked by, though, nothing happened. When the enemy fighters drew suitably far away, Falco slowly got to his feet and gave Miyu a hand up.

"Everyone okay?" he called whilst navigating down the destroyed staircase. Various affirmations resonated around him as his boots made contact with the ground floor.

One of the pilots jumped to his feet and pointed at the now wrecked police car. "Holy crap, they're alive!" Falco joined him in a run to the cruiser. Sure enough, behind the dark blue tinted windshield sat Lylat's two most stubborn vulpines. Falco vaulted through an empty window frame and landed next to the driver's side window. A few unsuccessful tries with the door handle told him it was jammed shut. He looked down and, despite the situation, cracked an amused grin at what he saw. There, in white italicized block letters over the cruiser's ebony-and-blue paintjob, was the CCPD's slogan: _"Making Corneria City Safer"_.

"For once…" Falco strained out as he gave the door one last fruitless pull, "They live up to their motto!" Knowing they had no time to lose, the avian flipped his blaster rifle around and bashed it against the glass. Gradually spreading cracks signified his progress as Falco slammed his gun into the window again and again. Krystal shielded her face as Falco's blaster made contact one last time. Crystalline shards of glass showered the vixen when the barrier was finally removed. Falco offered Krystal his wing. They locked forearms and Falco pulled her up and out of the car.

"My hero," Krystal droned sarcastically, still removing her lower body from the vehicle's confines.

Falco shot her a smirk; "This makes you indebted to me, right?" Glancing to the other side of the car, he saw that Fox had been able to force his own door open and, apart from a slight case of dizziness and a couple of bruises, seemed uninjured. After dragging Krystal the rest of the way out and receiving her grudging thanks, he confirmed she was similarly fortunate. The quartet made a quick reentry into the makeshift hiding spot. Greetings were exchanged, mutual well-being was verified, and plans were drawn up.

"Okay, here's the plan," Fox explained with holographic assistance from his wristcom, which displayed their immediate area in Fort Willis, "We're here, in Barracks 64. The main hangar is _here_ , 250 meters East. Reinforcements are inbound to draw off the enemy. When the Venomians move to engage, we'll have our window. A full-on sprint for the hangar is our best bet. Make sure to keep it staggered out; we're an easy target in a group. Once you're in the hangar, get airborne. Don't bother trying to find your own ships; just get airborne. From there, we'll call it as we see it. Questions?"

No one voiced their concerns. Fox was about to tell everyone to get ready to move when his auditory inserts crackled to life once more.

 _"Talon Squadron is on point. Moving to engage."_

 _"Eagle Squadron, Eagle One. Tally targets and break to intercept."_

 _"Magnum Flight, tally on multiple bogeys. Contacts moving to intercept from all forward bearings."_

 _"Guns clear. Firing on targets."_

 _"Eagle Three has bogeys in range. Releasing missile safeties. Eagle Three, Fox Two!"_

Explosions, missile contrails and gunfire ripped through the clear blue skyline as the airmen clashed. Fox pumped his fist triumphantly. "That's our backup! Everybody go! Move!"

The Cornerian pilots, now twelve in number, all sprang up and charged out of the building. Everyone left their gear behind; it would only slow them down, and they wouldn't need it in the air. Falco's lungs burned as he hammered across the blacktop, adrenaline spiking through his system. 150 meters to go, and it seemed luck was on their side. As that number dropped into the double digits, an Invader peeled off from its wingmates and swooped back around to the sprinting Cornerians.

One of the Cornerian pilots announced the danger. "Incoming at nine o'clock!"

Two friendly Bottlenose fighters hit their afterburners and gave chase, intent on stopping the enemy. With less than fifty meters to the hangar, Falco yelled at everyone to move it. The avian hazarded a glance behind him to ensure everyone was keeping up. The Labrador he spoke to earlier had fallen behind. Falco shouted various encouragements and beckoned at her with his arms. In the end, though, it wouldn't matter. He looked on in horror as the Invader skimmed just above the ground, heading straight for her. The Cornerian fighters caught up and opened fire, tearing it to shreds with green lasers. But the bomb had already been dropped. Falco averted his gaze as the explosion went off, but the canine's screams were burned into his memory. What remained of her body catapulted through the air and, as fate's twisted hand would have it, landed face up right in front of Falco's eyes.

The avian stayed rooted to the spot, frozen and stunned as he took in the horrific sight before him. The sickly scents of singed fur, blood and death assaulted Falco's nostrils. The pilot's left leg had been dismembered below the knee. Tiny flames licked at various parts of her flight suit. Her face was undamaged, but that only served to make it even more jarring: her maw hung open, and her dark blue eyes forever bulged in fear.

The image would haunt Falco for the rest of his life.

Fox grabbed his teammate by the arm. "Falco, come on! We gotta go!" Knowing there would be time to think on it later, Falco left the fallen Cornerian pilot where she lay and finished the run to the hangar. Everyone fanned out, the seven remaining CDF pilots claiming the closest Bottlenose fighters while Fox and friends bolted for their Arwings.

Fox latched onto his craft's nose, pulled himself up onto the fuselage and crawled into his Mark III Arwing's cockpit. Armed with twin hyper lasers, a charged shot module and self-propelled nova bombs, it was a versatile craft suited to many situations.

Falco and Krystal had had their Arwings specially commissioned. Falco's jet, christened the "Skyclaw" was skimpy on armor and sacrificed the standard Arwing's straight-up firepower in favor of longer ranged precision weaponry and a higher top speed. It was ideal for harassing enemy fighters from a distance, but still packed a standard alternating twin laser in the nose for close combat.

Krystal's Arwing, which she had dubbed the "Cloud Runner," was a veritable siege tank. The weight of the extra armor and heavy weaponry required a more powerful engine, all of which resulted in a large and imposing presence. Falco once made an off-handed comment about compensation, which had resulted in a very painful on-the-spot sparring match in the lounge. No further comments were made following the avian's visit to the medical ward. Even if there had been, Krystal's arsenal spoke for itself. Its thick armor plating ensured nothing short of a critical hit would down the Arwing. Yes, the hyper lasers would spell the doom of any fighters unfortunate enough to pass through her crosshairs, but her railguns were the real elephant in the room. Mounted beneath the wings, their projectiles could gut capital ships port to starboard with enough hits. Smaller enemy warships, such as destroyers, fell victim to her tertiary weapon: the wave cannon. When fired at an optimal angle, it had a rather nasty habit of cleaving ships in half.

Miyu preferred the twin-hulled Arwing interceptor, since it was more in line with her fast and dirty combat style. Interceptors were always faster and lighter than their mainstream fighter counterparts, but Miyu's craft left absolutely everything in the dust with its blistering speed and lightning-quick maneuverability. Its Mark III rapid laser cannons, firing over three thousand rounds per minute, could shred through fighters in the blink of an eye. Her secondary weapons, eight anti-aircraft "swarmer" cluster missiles, ensured the collective annihilation of entire enemy squadrons. The missile would lock onto multiple targets in a conical zone, fire, and then break open mid-flight to release its payload of twenty much smaller warheads. The swarm would spread out and each micro-missile would home in on its designated target. The individual warheads' smaller payload gave more or less of a coin flip chance on complete kills, but any hit would usually be damaging enough to negate the enemy threat. Altogether, Miyu's interceptor instilled a reign of terror against small craft, but suffered against larger warships.

Their specialties and weapons combined, the four pilots made an excellent team. They all knew how important that would be in this sudden and brutal war. Right now, though, Fox was entirely focused on hitting the buttons and flipping the switches all around his head to fire up his Arwing. His interface screen displayed the statuses of his ship's systems as he ran through an abbreviated preflight checklist.

 _#temp_eng=chrg_

 _#eng_online=1_

 **Internal Power Enabled**

 _#pwr_gen_ext=dis_

 **External Power Disabled**

 _#wp_prm_actv_\wait\_

 **Primary Weapons Charging**

 _#wp_sec_actv_\wait\_

 **Secondary Weapons Charging**

 _#sys_nav_astro=enb(input+)_

 **Astrogation Systems Enabled**

 _#O_ _2_ __pur_sys_onln_

 _#CO_ _2_ __scrb_enb_

 _#filt_sys_enb_

 **Life Support Enabled**

 _#barrier_KE_actv_

 **Kinetic Barriers Active; Deflector Shields Enabled**

 _#rngfnd_sys_track_sys_enb=1_

 **Targeting Systems Enabled**

 _#intfc__ _α_enb_

 **Alpha Interface Enabled**

 _#intfc__ _β_prm_

 **Beta Interface Primed**

 _#wp_prm_actv=true_

 _#sys_las_twin_enb_

 **Primary Weapons Charged; Twin Lasers Enabled**

 _#wp_sec_actv=true_

 _#sys_nvb_enb_

 **Secondary Weapons Charged; Nova Bombs Primed**

 _#sys_prop_FTL_chrg_

 **FTL Drives Active; Starflight Mode on Standby**

 _#mode_ar_enb_

 **All-Range Mode Enabled**

 **ALL SYSTEMS GO**

 **ARWING X-03 READY**

Fox gave everything one last cursory glance before nodding in satisfaction. The vulpine removed his helmet from underneath the seat and secured it on his head. "This is Arwing One. I'm green across the board."

His teammates replied in order of rank; Falco first. _"Arwing Two here. I'm fine."_

Krystal's voice floated out of his helmet's speakers. _"This is Arwing Three, charged and locked."_

Miyu reported last. _"Arwing Four; all systems go!"_

The other seven CDF pilots, whom had since introduced themselves as Divot Squadron, reported in a similar manner. They were ready.

Talon One's voice tore across the comm. Cockpit alarms permeated his speech. _"Commander, we're getting eaten up out here! If you're gonna launch, it has to be now!"_

Fox gave the order. "All pilots, you are clear to take off. Launch in pairs, scatter, and engage the enemy. Keep tabs on each other, and watch the friendly fire." He took a deep breath, "Good luck. To all of you."

Two by two, the Bottlenose pilots fired their underbelly jets, glided out to the center of the hangar, and rocketed away. Falco and Miyu lined up afterwards and promptly took off into battle as well. Fox hit his retros and drifted out of his parking space. Krystal lined up beside him.

The vulpine turned his head towards her. "You ready?" he asked as their engines warmed up.

"Yeah. Let's go!" And with that, Krystal punched her throttle and rocketed out of the hangar. Fox followed suit, slamming the lever all the way forward. He pulled back on the stick and let the momentum pin him to his seat, allowing himself one brief thought as his craft ascended into the Cornerian skyline.

 _Be safe._

000

 **CODEX**

 **CCPD:** Corneria City Police Department. Comfortable lifestyles, a good economy and happy people ensure laughably low crime rates, but the government still maintains a sizeable police force. Its officers wear black uniforms with a blue stripe down the sides of the pants, and switch between short and long-sleeved shirts depending on weather conditions. The department's squad cars are given similar paint jobs. During Andross's attack on Corneria, the CCPD assisted the military with communications and relocating civilians.

Note: Take the ADVENT police cars from XCOM 2, tint the windows light blue, and repaint the thing black and blue. Also recolor the light bar (you guessed it) blue.

 **Wristcom/Auditory Inserts:** Wristcoms began strictly as military tools, but have become extremely popular among civilian populations following the eventual production of nonmilitary models. They are a communication device mounted on the wrist much like a bracelet, used for sending and receiving calls, text messages and other communiqués. Each wristcom comes with a set of easily removable auditory inserts for the ears, so users do not have to constantly hold their arm up to their mouth. Military variants, issued to nearly all operatives, are cutting-edge and unavailable on the civilian market. Military wristcoms can communicate on dozens of different frequencies to negate enemy jamming technology, and some models even feature a holographic display module for projecting 3D images to facilitate briefings and combat operations.

 _ **Invader**_ **-class Fighter:** The mainstay fighter craft of Venomian forces. Although inferior to their Cornerian counterparts, _Invader_ -class craft are much cheaper to produce. This allows Venomian military leaders to field enough units to overwhelm the enemy out of sheer numbers. The Invader I is small, lightly armored and given only a single standard laser cannon in the nose. The more recent Invader II model is larger, decently armored and weaponized with twin alternating medium lasers. Invader IIIs are essentially an alternate model of the II-series fightercraft created for bombing runs. Sporting a noticeably wider wingspan, heavier armor and dumb-fire missiles and bombs, these craft are usually deployed with a specific target in mind and protocol requires that they be escorted.

 **Missiles:** Missiles have been a pilot's bane for hundreds of years. There are thousands of different types of missiles, but most can be sorted into two categories: guided and unguided. Unguided or "dumb-fire" missiles require a straight shot and line of sight due to their complete lack of tracking mechanisms. Guided or "smart-fire missiles" lock on to targets and track when fired, following their prey to the bitter end. Some missiles are anti-ground, some anti-air, and some all-purpose or "multirole". Missiles can be "shaken off" with evasive maneuvers, or with countermeasures such as ECM disruptors, flares, or a multitude of other defensive equipment.

 **Terminology – Pilots in Combat:** Militaries across the ages have used thousands of codes for thousands of different situations. In a fast-paced battle between dozens, or even hundreds of fightercraft, pilots must be able to use, recognize and respond to a multitude of callouts. For example, the Cornerian armed forces refer to enemy ground units as "tangos" and enemy fighter craft as "bogeys". Helicopter-style craft are called "birds" whether friendly or otherwise, so a hostile helo would simply be called an "enemy bird". On fighter craft, lasers, flak and other such weapons are referred to as "guns". When firing missiles, rockets or other such weapons, the proper command is "Fox Two," but a callout like "Missile/Rocket Away" is also acceptable. Some craft are outfitted with a tertiary weapon. If that is the case, it is usually highly destructive and only to be used when the situation demands it. For example, the standard model X-03 Arwing is kitted out with guided nova bombs. As these and other "special weapons" like the Wave Cannon are extremely volatile, protocol demands that pilots loudly and clearly state "Fox Three" before firing in order to warn other pilots to stay clear.

 **Lasers/Hyper Lasers:** The go-to weapon for militaries across known space, lasers have been in use for centuries. Hyper lasers are upgraded versions of their standard counterparts, and the Cornerian model's signature blue beam is rightly feared among pirate bands and other groups of outlaws. Even Venomian troops know to dig in for a fight when Cornerian units are spotted with this grade of weaponry.

 **Nova Bomb:** A vast upgrade over the conventional smart bomb. Nova bombs are so named due to the visual similarity between their detonations and those of stars. These weapons are some of the most devastating hardware any fightercraft can carry, able to cripple capital ships with a good hit. Due to the nova bomb's sheer destructive power, interstellar treaties prohibit their use in atmosphere. Even Venom has not yet broken that law.

 **Magnetic Infantry Weapons (Preemptive Entry):** After recent great leaps in the science of magnetic propulsion, the Cornerian armed forces have bled magnetic infantry weapons into service alongside their laser counterparts. This new breed of weaponry uses electromagnets sequentially aligned in the barrel to propel rounds at extremely high speeds. Magnetic weapons are devastating compared to old ballistic bullet-based guns. The drawbacks of mag weapons in comparison to laser weapons are twofold: extra weight, and the need to carry extra ammunition. However, while laser weapons' power cells are capable of firing hundreds (if not thousands) of rounds at a rapid rate, the gun is effectively useless once its cell is depleted until a replacement cell can be inserted. Spent cells are radiation hazards, so it is ill-advised to change them in the field for obvious reasons. However, the Cornerian military has found a comfortable balance in use between the two weapon types. Lasers are still issued to Air Force troops, most Navy personnel, Army airborne infantry, and a significant portion of recon units and other forces that rely on high mobility and low weight. Magnetic weapons are slowly pushing their laser-based counterparts out of service with mainline infantry units used to carrying heavy loads and dealing heavy damage. The Cornerian Federation Marine Corps (CFMC) is now entirely outfitted with magnetic infantry weapons, and the Army is slated to catch up in the next decade.

 **Railguns:** Nine months before Andross declared war, a Cornerian rear admiral returning from her third combat tour battling pirates and slavers in the Sargasso region was prompted for an interview to give the public a better understanding of military technology. The interview would later make the admiral a military celebrity, partly due to her impressive understanding of her weapons' inner workings and ingenuity for creating unconventional tactics on the fly, but mostly for her pitch-black humor. She was quoted during the press interview saying, "The more railguns you're staring at, the bigger the problem you have." The father technology and design basis of magnetic infantry weapons, railguns are essentially mag rifles on steroids. While railguns can be found on some destroyers, they are primarily fitted on ships of frigate class or larger. There are several different types of railguns. Some are coaxially mounted and (relatively) fast-firing; these models are usually installed on a ship's port and starboard flanks. Other models are purely forward-firing; these railguns are more powerful and their barrels often extend into their vessel's interior to allow for more electromagnets, and by extension, more damage. Railguns fire slugs made of solid tungsten, one of the densest known metals. The blistering accelerative power the electromagnets provide eliminates the need for explosive powder and shell casings entirely; as the same captain said, "That gives you 68% more bullet, per bullet." In addition, that same accelerative power generates enough friction to ignite the air around the slug (as rail artillery and vehicle-mounted railguns are used planetside), though not in a wide enough radius to endanger surrounding troops. Said the rear admiral, "If you hear a thunderclap when it's bright and sunny out, and the ground just shook, it means some 'Nomie bastard seventeen miles out is about to have a very, _very_ bad day." She then went on to explain that _'Nomie_ (pronounced KNOW-mee) was derogatory military slang for "Venomian". On top of friction, the sheer velocity of rail-fired slugs generates sufficient kinetic energy to cause much more damage on impact than old-school explosive shells.

 **Wave Cannon:** A powerful prototype energy weapon designed specifically for Lieutenant Zonoc's Cloudrunner Arwing. The Wave Cannon fires plasma in a horizontal arc. (other relevant information covered in chapter text)

 **Swarmer Missiles:** (explained in chapter text)


	3. Enter: Major Criswell (Corneria Part 1)

Chapter 3: Enter Major Criswell (Corneria Part One)

000

 **Deployment+ 00m:00s**

 **CDR Fox McCloud, Cornerian Federation Navy**

 **Commanding Officer, SpecDiv Squadron "Star Fox"**

 **Airborne over Corneria City**

"Incoming!" The Cornerian pilot jinked to the right, narrowly avoiding a burst of laser fire. "Somebody take care of the bogey behind me!"

"This is Magnum Seven; I'm on his tail. Guns hot." Green beams flashed across the short distance between the ships. The Invader II's rear hull melted away and the fighter dropped like a stone. "Eagle Two, you are all clear."

Fox glanced left, right, and above at the warring fighters. Since his team and the remaining CDF pilots had taken off, the tides had shifted drastically. The four elite pilots, coupled with their cutting-edge Arwings, made for a nearly unstoppable force. Fox and Miyu had already racked up half a dozen kills each. Falco had confirmed four, and Krystal three. With their aid, the Venomian fighter craft rapidly became an endangered species in Fort Willis' airspace. It wasn't long before the few surviving bogeys cut and ran.

Fox let out a breath and loosened his grip on his controls. "Stand down. All units, report in."

 _"Talon Squadron, checkin' in. Two ships down, one damaged, nine unscathed. Over."_

 _"Eagle Squadron, reporting. Four casualties, eight ships undamaged. Over."_

 _"Magnum Flight here. Nine pilots down, eleven in the green. Over."_

 _"Divot Squadron, reporting in,"_ said the newly airborne CDF squadron leader, _"One casualty, six up and running, over."_ Fox grimly remembered their unit had suffered five casualties while they were still on the ground; with the additional plane down, they were now at half-strength.

"Roger that. I don't think they're coming back; Fort Willis should be clear from now on. Hostile aircraft are still buzzing the city, and there have been reports of Venomian boots on the ground. Until we hear from Command, we're operating autonomously. Split off into your respective units and lend a hand where you're needed. Provide close air support for ground units if possible, but priority one is maintaining air superiority. Clear?" The other four leaders sent acknowledgments. Fox thought for a quick moment, and then spoke again. "One more thing: Divot Squadron, I want you with us. You're vulnerable in your current state." He wasn't sure why, but he felt responsible for these pilots' current predicament.

 _"Uh… Divot One copies. Divot Squadron, form up."_

And with that, the air units regrouped and split off to retake the Cornerian skies.

000

 **Deployment+ 4h:12m:53s**

 **MAJ Walter Criswell, CFMC**

 **Commanding Officer, 3** **rd** **Company, 1** **st** **Battalion, 5** **th** **Marines**

 **Northern Corneria City**

"Down! Down!" Major Criswell ducked behind the smoking wreck of a Cornerian APC. Red Venomian laser fire splattered his former position. A black panther, one of the three other soldiers holed up behind the destroyed APC, turned to his commander. The double upward-facing golden chevrons denoting a corporal were sewn to each side of his collar. They both had to all but shout over the fire constantly hammering their position.

"What's it look like out there, sir?" the panther hollered, back pressed against the vehicle. Like the rest of his platoon, the panther wore solid grey fatigues beneath his matte black armor. Criswell presumed the heat wasn't the only reason he was sweating, and given the circumstances he couldn't blame him.

"Bad," replied the officer, "I counted at least twenty!" The lupine flinched as a red beam spalled a nearby car's window.

"And that's just on the right side?" shouted one of the other troopers dug in next to them, this one an orange-pelted lioness with a sergeant's triple chevrons on her collar. She swore when Major Criswell responded in the affirmative.

Criswell and his charge; 3rd Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines; or more simply "the 315th" had been lucky. (A/N: scroll down to the Codex for a troop organization table) They had not yet been forced to retreat like so many other units. But at this rate, their lines would be broken soon enough. His original number of 192 Marines had been fighting like hell for the past four hours just to maintain their positions, and while he wasn't aware of the exact casualty statistics, he knew a lot of his Marines had given their lives today. To make matters worse, his company's four platoons had been separated when the attack hit.

He now spearheaded Blister Platoon, one of the 315th's three mainline infantry units. Platoons like his were composed almost entirely of foot-based infantry troops, with a handful of APCs for quick transit. The men and women of 315th Blister were tough as nails and bred for frontline combat, and they had the weapons and armor to give any enemy a bad day. _But with the numbers they're throwing at us… how long until the fight's kicked out of you?_ Criswell estimated Blister at two-thirds strength, and that number wouldn't be climbing any time soon. _Well, at least we've got Scythe with us; they've been helping even the odds._

Scythe Platoon, another fourth of the 315th, had been supporting Blister in their efforts at holding the line. They were a tech platoon; lighter, more specialized troops, with cutting-edge equipment to balance the sacrifice in firepower. While tech platoons could still hold their own in direct firefights, they were much more suited to avoiding the enemy where they were strong and hitting them hard where they weren't. Tech platoons employed a variety of special equipment to allow them to level the playing field against a superior force. EMP grenades could wipe out enemy electronics. Proximity mines, keyed to recognize friendly Cornerian IFF tags, could be just as effective as a tank in holding down chokepoints. And if they were caught in the open, deployable one-way kinetic barrier pylons and a variety of portable barricades meant a tech platoon could set up a defensible hardpoint in minutes. These things were just a handful of the arsenal at a tech platoon's disposal, and the 315th Scythe was one of the best.

Nobody had heard from Claymore Platoon, one of the company's two other mainline infantry units. However, they _had_ heard from Hammer Platoon, the 315th's third core infantry force. The platoon's CO had only managed to send Criswell a brief, barely intelligible comm burst, but from what the major had deduced it sounded like they were pinned down somewhere to the East. _So Hammer won't be coming anytime soon._

"Sir!" called the lioness sergeant, "They're getting a little too close for comfort over here!" She leaned around the APC's left side and squeezed off a few shots before a sheet of red lasers forced her back behind the vehicle.

A few meters behind them, a pair of marines behind an overturned sedan spotted an opportunity. "Enemy infantry in the open!" Using the car's body to balance their rifles, the pair of huskies opened fire. Five of the advancing red-and-black uniformed Venomian troops were cut down before the rest made it to cover. "I'm out, back me up." The Marine ejected the spent magazine from his rifle. He was reaching for another when a Venomian soldier nailed him twice in the chestplate. The husky let out an explosive breath and fell back.

The Marine next to him snapped his gaze to his wounded comrade. "Carson! Shit… CORPSMAN–" He never finished his sentence. The laser that speared through his head finished it for him.

Knowing a soldier needed saving, one of Blister's combat medics broke away from his position and made a mad dash for it, taking two infantrymen with him as an escort. The trio had barely skidded into position behind the overturned car when a plasma grenade sailed in right next to them. The grenade, combined with the fuel left in the car, didn't leave much behind.

Criswell tightened his grip on his AMR-110 magnetic rifle and did his best not to lose his cool. "Enough of this shit." He keyed his comm, "Scythe, 315th Actual. Move into the buildings on the right side of the street and lay down fire from above."

Static punctuated the platoon leader's response, _"Can't, sir. They've got us pinned down too!"_

 _Dammit._ "Alright, hold position and do what you can. Out." With no other viable option, Criswell switched to an open channel. "This is 315th Actual, Federation Marine Corps. My men and I are pinned and we're cut off from half of our company. Requesting immediate support, over!"

A good long moment later, there was a reply. The whine of aircraft engines could be heard in the background: _"315_ _th_ _Actual, this is Warhorse Five-One, flight of two JMU-05s, ready to provide support. What is your position? Over."_

If he was honest with himself, Criswell had been expecting static, or maybe a small ground unit if he was lucky. But air support? _Maybe we're not screwed after all._ "Warhorse Five-One, be advised, exact location unknown. We're pinned down and in the middle of some heavy fighting, over."

" _Acknowledged. Can you provide landmarks? Over."_

Criswell thought for a moment. "We are near the Federation Reserve Building. Call contact?"

High above, one of the two pilots looked around until he spotted the iconic white marble building. _"Contact."_

"Close on our East, Space Elevator Three. Call contact?"

" _Contact."_

"We're somewhere on Tenner Street. That's all I can do."

" _Solid copy, 315_ _th_ _Actual. We have you on visual; ETA one mike. Sit tight, guys."_

"Roger tha–" a large explosion cut Criswell off; even the pilots could see it.

" _315_ _th_ _Actual, do you copy? 315_ _th_ _Actual, respond."_

Criswell was busy pointing and shouting orders to his men. "Enemy armor, seventy yards!" Another explosion went off, tossing a four-man fire team like ragdolls. "Cover that sector! Cover that sector!" The major leaned around the side of his rapidly deteriorating cover and squeezed off a burst from his AMR. "Get here quick! They're swarming us!"

" _Ask and you shall receive. Warhorse Five-One is coming in hot. Danger close."_ The pair of gunships made themselves perpendicular with the ground and rocketed upwards at full thrust. _"Acquiring targets. Calculating run vector."_ In each jet's cockpit, a green light came on and a solid high tone sounded. _"Targets are padlocked; committing to dive."_ The pilots set their thrusters to zero, curbing their upward velocity. As soon as their ships began to drop, the pilots twisted their yokes and fell back out of the cloud line, pointed straight down above the enemy tanks. _"Warhorse Five-One, going hot. Releasing payload on enemy armor."_ Bombs and missiles spread from the gunships' underbellies and hit the ground with thundering force. Twisted metal flew skywards, soundwaves rippled up and down the street and Venomian soldiers were thrown in every direction. Just as quickly, the pilots pulled out of their dive, fired their belly jets and flew right over the battered Cornerian Marines. _"Committing to second pass."_ With grace more suited to the dance floor than urban warfare, the two side-by-side jets turned inwards, intersected and neatly slid past each other. The pilots arced up, cut engines, spun around, and slammed their throttles forward again. Once more the gunships screamed over the 315th's heads, low enough to kiss the rooftops. _"Warhorse Five-One, tally on enemy infantry. Guns, guns, guns."_ Their autocannons opened up, unleashing thousands of rounds of superheated hellfire upon the Venomian troops. Whatever cover they may have taken shelter behind was torn to shreds, and the inhabitants along with it. Still not satisfied, the two gunship pilots repeated their intersecting maneuvers to make a _third_ pass, and then a _fourth_. By the time the Cornerian pilots were done, it looked as though Hades himself had walked among the enemy; the Venomian troops were absolutely devastated. The few lucky enough to survive the combined rain of flak and lasers cut and ran, their resolve broken and will to fight shattered. _"Good effects on target; disengaging. Good luck, 315_ _th_ _Actual. Warhorse Five-One, out."_

 _Ho-ly shit._ It was in that moment that Major Criswell swore he would never joke about the Air Force again. The Cornerian Marines cheered loud and proud, hearts swelled with pride. Criswell turned to face his troops. Those who didn't hear his orders in person heard them through their earpieces. "Blister! Scythe! RUN THE BASTARDS DOWN!"

The Marines' deafening war cry, followed by close to a hundred pairs of boots thundering forward, was all the answer Criswell needed.

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** So I've decided to aim for shorter chapters. I think the reason I've been so slow with uploading is because I've been trying to do too much at once and getting bogged down as a result. Hopefully this way I can get content out faster, just with less content per chapter. Nobody wants to read 6K word chapters anyway, so I think this will be more digestible anyway. We'll be switching back to the Star Fox team's perspective next time, but expect Major Criswell to return later in this story. I have several other (read: minor) OCs planned for later on, as well as a few cameo appearances by canon _Star Fox_ characters.

Cheers!

-SergeantLawson

 **CODEX**

 **Aircraft Organization (all Cornerian military branches):** Twelve planes to a squadron, twenty planes to a flight, forty planes to a group, sixty planes to a wing. Two flights to a group, four flights/five squadrons to a wing. While twenty planes is the official designation of a flight, any number of airmen who meet in the skies can form a "flight" of their own. This is common if pilots are isolated from their units, as forming an allied group, however small, is better than sticking it out alone. This particular type of flight is denoted by a name followed by two numbers, "Warhorse Five-One", or "Black One-Nine" are two examples. Dedicated, official flights are simply denoted by a name, for example, "Magnum Flight," and its pilots are called Magnum One, Two, Three etc.

 **Ground Troop Organization (Army & Marine Corps):** 4 soldiers to a fire team (4). Three fire teams to a squad (3x4 = 12). Four squads to a platoon (12x4 = 48). Four platoons to a company (48x4 = 192). Five companies to a battalion (192x5 = 960). 5 Battalions to a regiment (960x5 = 4,800). In an operation, tasks are typically assigned by company. Companies are referred to by their company number in their battalion, followed by their battalion number in the regiment, followed by the regiment number itself. For example, Major Walter Criswell leads the 3rd Company of the 1st Battalion of the 5th Marine Regiment. Therefore, his company is called "the 315th" for short. Specific platoons within a company are referred to as "####th [company name]".

 **AMR-110:** The standard issue magnetic rifle for Cornerian Marines and Army troops, officially known as the Automatic Magnetic Rifle, Model 110. A versatile weapon, but mostly suited to mid-range combat. Typically comes with thirty-round magazines, and features a holographic projection sight.

 **Body Armor:** If you _really_ want to know what my AU's body armor is made out of, look in _Mass Effect_ 's codex until you find what they use for body armor. It's 12:30AM and I'm too damn tired to come up with anything unique myself. **Edit:** I'll probably stick a concrete definition in the next ground combat-heavy chapter.

 **JMU-05 Gunship:** The iconic Cornerian bomber. A crew of two is required to run this craft; a pilot and a gunner. Armed with heavy lasers, devastating anti-infantry rapid flak cannons, missiles and bombs. Packs a hell of a punch, but more expensive than its counterpart, the Invader III. Protocol recommends an escort, but these ships are capable of holding their own against enemy aircraft if absolutely necessary. It should be noted, though, that the JMU-05 is _not_ suited for fighter-based combat.


	4. Retaliation (Corneria Part 2)

Chapter 4: Retaliation (Corneria Part 2)

000

 **Deployment +9h:12m:45s**

 **CPT Tanner Blake, Venomian Republic Navy**

 **Commanding Officer,** _ **VRN Donnager**_ **, Interplanetary Attack Carrier**

 **West Cornerian Ocean**

Captain Tanner Blake stood at ease on the bridge of his ship, the _VRN Donnager_ , hands resting comfortably at the small of his back as he looked over his command crew. He wore the standard Venomian naval officer's dress uniform: blood-red pants tucked into black boots, a red dress shirt, a black coat buttoned up to his neck, and a black peaked cap on his head. The coat sported gold buttons, a half dozen campaign ribbons on the right side of his chest, and four white rank diamonds arranged in a square on each side of his collar. The primate's tail slowly moved back and forth as he pondered the current state of affairs. The _Donnager_ was of the old attack carrier design; technically outdated, but still a fine ship in his opinion. The large vessel's three ugly protruding hangar bays had often given the enemy something to laugh at… until they saw the dozens of fighters pouring out of each one. Most of those fighters had been deployed across Corneria City to blast whatever targets they came across. Blake had kept two squadrons in the hangars to act as a guard, and given the situation, that was looking more and more like a good decision. From a soldier's standpoint, he had to give the Cornerians credit; they were resilient despite their complacency. Even so, it was painfully obvious that they had not been expecting a home front attack; his swarms of Invader fighters had caught them completely flat-footed and inflicted massive damage from the start.

But that was before _they_ had made it off the ground.

Everything had been going so well. Captain Blake's orders were simply to distract the Federation; to draw their fleets home and leave the rest of the system vulnerable. He had been doing that and more: the defenders were decimated, the skies had been his, and he had even managed to land troops. But then those four planes had taken off. Really there had been eleven, but he was only concerned about four of them. The reports coming in were sketchy, and usually followed by the sounds of cockpit alarms and ejection parachutes, but together they painted a rough outline of a picture around just who these Cornerian pilots were.

So far, the captain knew three things for certain. First, the pilots were extremely skilled; likely a well-recognized and respected unit. Second, the aircraft model was one he had never seen or even heard of before. Each plane was custom-built and seemed to be intended for a specific purpose. Blake assumed this was to allow the team to face a wide range of opponents. And third, they seemed to be leading the aerial retaliation, judging by how any other Cornerian airmen they came into contact with fought with renewed vigor.

Whoever these people were, they needed to die if Blake intended to maintain any kind of hold over Corneria City. In just over nine hours, those pilots had rallied a defense and punched many more holes in his fighter screen than the Venomian officer would have liked. The thing was, though, Captain Blake did _not_ intend to maintain any kind of hold over Corneria City. The pilots he had sent out were all volunteers from across the Republic's military, with one specific mission: do as much damage as possible. Each man out there behind the stick of an Invader knew he had willingly signed his own death warrant. Free from the worries of self-preservation, they had fought harder, and died faster. They had done their duty, and remarkably well at that. _When I return home, I will ensure they are commended for their sacrifice._ And looking at the current stance of things, returning home was exactly what he thought was best.

"Helm," the primate commanded without so much as removing his eyes from the forward viewscreens, "Disengage from holding pattern. Take us out of the atmosphere; plot a course at your discretion."

"Aye, sir. Disengaging and plotting course now."

To Blake's left, his sensor officer leaned out of his chair and spoke up. "Sir? Respectfully, that is not advisable."

Blake did not lash out at the officer in question like some other commanders would have. He had learned to listen to his crew's suggestions; sometimes they were even better than his own initial plans. So he pivoted towards the lizard in the chair and asked, "Why is that, Lieutenant?"

"We have inbound contacts. If we turn tail now, we'll leave our aft vulnerable."

That grabbed the captain's interest. "You said we have incoming?" he asked as he strode over to the sensor officer's station.

"Yes, sir."

"How many?"

"Four." The officer swiveled sideways in his chair to give the captain a better view and pointed at the quartet of small red blips on the screen. "They register as fighter craft but I can't get a read on the model." The lizard paused for a half-second. "I think it's them, sir."

Captain Blake was not worried, afraid, uncertain, or even mildly concerned. Four fighters against a capital ship and two squadrons? They may be good, but no one could overcome those odds. An amused grin spread across the primate's face as he allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Ah, someone wants to play."

000

 **Deployment +9h:15m:00s**

 **CDR Fox McCloud, Cornerian Federation Navy**

 **Commanding Officer, SpecDiv Unit "Star Fox"**

 **West Cornerian Ocean**

The Star Fox Team and Divot Squadron maintained a low altitude and tight formation in their pursuit of the enemy ship. They flew low because it would be harder for missiles to track them, while their tight formation was meant to confuse the enemy ship's sensors and hopefully prevent them from gaining an accurate reading. If they were lucky, the enemy ship's scanners might confuse them for a much smaller number of fighters. Fox and his team flew in a diamond with Miyu on point, Krystal on the left, Falco on the right, and Fox taking up the rear. Divot Squadron's six remaining pilots covered their flanks with a split arrowhead: three aircraft on the left and three on the right, each trio holding a diagonal line to form half an arrowhead on either side.

Fox's sensors identified their quarry as an old Venomian attack carrier, which led him to assume it was the Venomian fighter swarm's point of origin. Taking that ship out would deny the Venomian pilots their only fallback point and greatly ease the task of securing Cornerian airspace. Normally Fox wouldn't even have considered taking on a capital ship with only half a fighter squadron as support. But since the CDF fleet had to maintain orbit in case of another attack, they were on their own.

Miyu's tomboy drawl broke across the comm, _"Hey boss, he's turnin'."_

Fox tapped a few buttons on his control board and the Arwing's sensor display grew to occupy most of the screen. Sure enough, the large red blip had deviated from its course and was making a hard left. "Stay on him; we do not lose that ship!"

 _"That'll be easy. Carrier just pulled a one-eighty; he's pointed right at us."_

"Distance?"

 _"Hundred klicks, give or take. He's onto us now, so I don't know how long we can keep fooling his sensors."_ Miyu bit her lower lip for a moment. _"If we're tricking 'em at all."_

Knowing every passing second put them more at risk, Fox made up his mind. "On my mark, everyone gun it, but keep pace with each other. We don't want to show our numbers just yet." When his teammates and Divot Squadron's leader had sent their affirmations, he counted down. "Three… two… one… mark!"

000

On the bridge of the _VRN Donnager_ , the sensor officer realized the four red blips were picking up speed. The lizard pulled off one of his earphones and swiveled in his chair. "Captain? Sir, those contacts are accelerating."

Captain Blake turned his head towards the officer. "ETA?"

"At present course and speed… sixty seconds, sir."

The captain nodded. "Very well." He tapped a few controls on his wristcom to switch channels. "Flight, Bridge. Prepare the remaining fighters for launch."

 _"Flight copies. ETA 90 seconds to launch readiness."_

"Bridge copies." Blake terminated the link and turned to his weapons officer. "Fire Control, report weapons status."

"Armed, loaded, ready to fire."

"Very well. Divert energy from shields; I want full power to point defense and CIWS."

"Aye, aye. UV lasers and plasma autocannons at full charge; shield power has been adjusted to 35%." The weapons officer paused before asking, "Are you sure that'll be enough, sir?"

"They're only fighters, Ortez. They won't even scratch our shields." The primate shifted back towards his sensorman. "Sensors, ETA?"

"15 seconds, sir."

"Good. Helm, hold present course and–"

"What the hell?! Sir, those contacts are multiplying!" Eyes glued to his console, the reptile called out the ever-increasing numbers. "I count five; now six! Seven… nine… ten! Sir, I now count ten enemy craft inbound!"

Blake cursed himself for not having seen through their strategy. "They were flying low to mask their numbers," he muttered, "Sensors, get me readings. What are we dealing with?"

"Six register as Cornerian AL5 Bottlenose fighters. The other four are still unidentified; nothing in our databanks matches up."

"Fire Control, weapons free. Lock and fire at your discretion, but keep CIWS fully charged."

"Aye, sir!"

Captain Blake keyed his earpiece. "Flight, where are my fighters?"

 _"20 seconds to launch. We're moving as fast as we can, sir."_

"Launch the _instant_ you're ready!"

Fate chose that moment to make the _Donnager_ 's sensorman the bearer of bad news once more. One of the red dots on his screen spat out an identical twin, which proceeded to make a beeline for the Venomian ship. His fears were confirmed when a high-low two-toned alarm went off in his headset. "We've got incoming! Smart bomb inbound!"

000

Fox tightened his grip around the Arwing's stick, keeping an intent eye on the Venomian carrier's hangar doors. As soon as the first Invader came out, he gave the order. "Split, now!" He and Krystal rolled left, Falco peeled right, and Miyu and Divot Squadron pulled up. Divot Squadron may have just been following Miyu's lead because her fighter was tailored to the same purposes as theirs, but the Star Fox team's pilots themselves were completely in tune with each other. Hundreds of hours behind their aircraft's sticks had in some ways made them more closely knit than siblings. They knew what their wingmates would do, sometimes even before they knew it themselves.

One Venomian warship and twenty-four Invaders against this quartet of Cornerian aces? It was time to go to work.

Fox keyed his comm. "Miyu, Divot, you're on fighter duty. Falco, see if you can pick off their guns from a distance. Krystal, knock out their shields. I'll figure out some way through that armor."

The vulpine could almost hear Miyu's grin over the audio line. _"Heh. Saddle up, kids. Let's take out the trash."_

Miyu nudged her throttle forward, pulling ahead of Divot Squadron in her vertical ascent. The instant she counted ten Invaders on her display, she cut back on the throttle and pushed her yoke down, pulling a vertical one-eighty so tight, it looked as though her craft had simply flipped over in place. With her Arwing's nose aimed at the ground, Miyu slammed her throttle into full thrust. Divot Squadron's pilots did their best to keep up, but the gap only widened.

"Arwing Four, Fox Two!" Miyu fired one of her swarmer missiles without waiting for a lock; the missile's submunitions would do the job for her. She squeezed her gun triggers at the same time. Green laser bolts filled a small section of the sky while her swarmer missile's casing broke apart and its payload of twenty micro-missiles homed in on the now dozen visible Invaders.

The effects were almost unfair. Three of the Invaders took so much gunfire that they simply exploded, leaving only unidentifiable shreds of flaming metal behind. One unlucky plane broke in half lengthwise from the emerald beams that stitched their way along its hull. The swarmer missile's submunitions blew holes and chunks out of four more Invaders, while a fifth simply shattered into three pieces. As Miyu zipped down diagonally past the upper starboard hangar, two more enemy fighters emerged into the flaming skies… and Divot Squadron's crosshairs. The CDF pilots opened fire with their lasers, intent in scoring at least one kill before this obviously crazed lynx could wipe everything out. One fighter pulled a spur of the moment evasive maneuver, and ended up rolling right into his wingmate. Their frames locked together and they tumbled as one down into the crystal blue waves of the Cornerian ocean. To Miyu's dismay, three fighters out of the original dozen escaped unscathed.

She took it as a personal insult.

 _"Sorry boss, I missed a spot."_ Fox looked on as Miyu's Arwing pulled out of its dive, nearly skimming the waves before the lynx fired her thrusters again. She banked left in her upward course to intercept the Invader trio, and had the first one locked in less than four seconds. _"Get back here, you little–"_ The rumble of her cannons muffled the last part of that sentence over the comm, but the sight of three flaming Invaders spiraling out of control put a definitive period on her transmission well enough.

Fox keyed his comm, "Report in. How are we doing?"

A female voice replied, _"This is Divot Three. We're fine; just leave some for–"_ A continuous wide ultraviolet beam came out of the Venomian warship and speared into Divot Three's Bottlenose, obliterating it. The gun rotated and cut into two more of the squadron's fighters before the rest escaped.

One of the two Cornerian fighters rocketed straight down with both wings on fire. The panther behind the stick made one last panicked, screaming transmission. _"Divot Five, fire in the cockpit! I can't see; I can't see! AAAAAHHH–"_ His scream was cut off when the fighter hit the ocean at over a thousand kilometers per hour, simultaneously flattening itself and exploding in an orange flash.

The other pilot, a female fennec, frantically hit a series of buttons on the left side of her cockpit. _"Divot Nine, going down! Ejecting!"_

She wrapped her fingers around the red handle to her right, and yanked the ripcord. The safety pins lining the top of the cockpit went off, blowing the canopy away and exposing her to the screaming wind. The pilot was launched up and out of her jet as the world exploded all around her. The instant she cleared minimum safe distance, the parachute in the back of her seat deployed automatically. She was slammed forward into her six-point safety harness as the chute's cords pulled taut. Her head whipped forward, then back and smacked into the seat's headrest. Crash rails appeared from slits in the sides of her seat and extended out in front of her, serving both as something for her to grab onto and as a roll cage for when she hit the ground. It took every ounce of strength she had, but the fox managed to reach her arms forward despite the breakneck flips, spins and tumbles her body was being put through. With one final effort, she latched her paws onto the crash rails. The vixen grit her teeth and held on for dear sweet life, wind howling in her ears as she continued to spin.

" _Whoa, shit!"_ said someone across the comm.

Divot's leader broadcasted, _"Divot One to all craft! Break off, they're targeting us with CIWS!"_

Falco couldn't see anything from his angle. _"Divot Nine, report! Divot Nine!"_

Heart hammering dangerously fast in her chest, the pilot thanked every deity in existence as she floated down through the air, swinging back and forth in her seat like a pendulum. She watched as her fighter continued forward on its path beneath her, wreathed in flames and belching smoke. The fennec's head was throbbing from where it had smacked the back of her chair. She knew she'd have some bruises and friction burns; maybe even a pulled muscle. Considering the alternative, those minor injuries seemed almost like heaven. She took two deep breaths, sucking in a mixture of almost pure oxygen in an attempt to calm her heartrate.

One the fennec fox could speak again, she replied. "This is Divot Nine… I'm fine." Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. She did the same as the seat's life support pod formed itself around her, encasing her in a transparent vacuum-sealed blast-proof capsule. "Life pod's active. I'll just sit here, twiddle my thumbs and hope I don't drown."

" _Divot Nine, Divot One. Activate your distress beacon; we'll send S &R."_

"Already done. Kick that thing's ass; you'll know where to find me. Out."

The Venomian carrier's gunners took advantage of the lull in combat. Confident their ship's armor alone would be enough to protect them, they shunted all shield power to weapons and filled the air with lasers, flak and missiles.

"Incoming; go evasive!" Everyone split off in random directions, using every trick in the book to avoid death. One of Divot's three remaining jets took a glancing blow, but they were still flying despite some minor damage. Most of the missiles were aimed at the Star Fox team, which led Fox to assume they were targeting them deliberately. His team mates activated their ECM systems as they continued their evasive maneuvers, and the missiles tracking them corkscrewed wildly off-course. Seeing three missiles locked onto his fighter, Fox touched the button to activate his own countermeasures… and nothing happened.

He recalled the conversation he'd had earlier that morning: _"My ECM system was throwing up warnings."_

Fox twisted his yoke every which way, but no matter where he turned, the missiles only closed the gap. _No, no, no, no, no!_ was his last thought before the first missile slammed right into his craft from below. His Arwing shook and he was slammed around in his seat as the second, and then third warheads impacted and detonated. The other three Star Fox pilots looked on as their commander's plane was engulfed in fire.

Falco couldn't believe it. _"Oh my God."_

Krystal nearly shouted, _"Fox! Fox, are you alright?"_

The vulpine pulled back on his stick, making an inside loop out of the fireball. An alarm buzzed in his ears, and he tasted blood in the side of his mouth where he'd bitten his cheek. "This is McCloud! Shields at twelve percent; I can't take another hit like that!" They all knew they had to bring that ship down, _now_.

Krystal spoke up, "Their shields are down; probably shifted power to weapons."

Fox replied as the ringing in his ears died down. "Best news I've heard all day. This is our chance; find a weak point."

Krystal spoke again, "Their hangars are open. If I can land a shot inside one of them, we'll be the least of their problems."

Falco immediately saw the genius of it, _"All those munitions and fuel in one place… damn, that just might work. Good thinking, Blue."_

Fox nodded to himself and transmitted his approval. "Do it."

"Roger that. Cover me, would you?" The vixen broke formation with an inside loop, and came out of it level with the hangar. She flipped up the safety cap on the top of her stick with the edge of her thumb, exposing the yellow and black caution-striped button that would fire her wing-mounted railguns. _Come on, come on, line up… there you are._

000

Captain Blake still couldn't believe how absolutely disastrous the past five minutes had been. _One_ fighter had knocked out nine of his in a single pass, and then three more just seconds later. His thirteenth and fourteenth pilots had, of all things, _crashed into each other_. And how many of the Cornerians had his ship's defenses taken out? Three. _Three!_ To add insult to injury, one of the pilots was still alive, having managed to eject in time. His own fighters hadn't even managed to score a single kill. Blake had ordered those whom hadn't taken off yet to stand down and remain inside, an order with which they had all more than happily complied.

By the time he had seen one of those damned mystery jets take three direct hits, from _missiles_ , and _still_ fly away apparently unscathed, he was certain the gods were laughing at him. When he saw that the fighter was kitted out with shields, that belief was only reinforced. The sort of equipment these four angels of death were using, both offensive and defensive, should have been impossible. Fighters with shields didn't exist; cluster missiles with homing submunitions small enough to be mounted on fighters didn't exist; and fighters able to perform maneuvers that should snap them in half _didn't exist_.

At that moment, two large yellow beams lanced out of one of the fighters and smashed into them with the force of a destroyer's firepower. Those who weren't holding onto anything were thrown off their feet, Captain Blake included.

Apparently fighters with railguns didn't exist, either.

The primate pushed himself off the deck and regained his footing. "Damage report!"

"Upper starboard hangar is gone, sir!"

 _That's impossible…_ "Gone? What do you–"

"Lower starboard hangar is gone!"

Captain Blake was losing his grip on the strings of his temper, and the look on his face could only be described as shocked horror. "How the hell is that even possible?!"

"It shouldn't be, sir! They shot a damned railgun at us; two of them!" The wolf was in just as much disbelief as everyone else as the footage replayed on his screen. "They fired right into the upper starboard hangar, and the fuel and munitions stored there cooked off. The blast tore off the entire hangar; it crashed into hangar two and sheared it off as well."

Blake tightened his grip on the rail. "Seal all nonessential hatches to contain the fire! Get us out of here, _now_!"

Nobody would get a chance to execute his orders: seconds later, the Star Fox team and Divot Squadron's remnants opened fire with everything they had. Missiles, smart bombs, railgun fire and lasers all put a spectacular end to the _Donnager_ 's existence. Realizing the end was at hand, Captain Blake turned his gaze to the floor, closed his eyes, and uttered one final sentence.

"My emperor… I've failed you."

000

Cheers erupted inside the Cornerian fighters' cockpits as the attack carrier slowly fell towards the ocean. Unbeknownst to them, the CDF fleet's crews whom had been watching from above were cheering right along with them.

A voice they hadn't heard in a while made a reappearance. _"That's a damned fine sight."_

Miyu tapped her transmitter. "That you, Divot Nine?"

" _Yup,"_ came the pilot's informal reply, still bobbing with the gentle, almost calming waves on the ocean's surface.

Divot One checked in on his pilot. _"We've got S &R on the way, Nine. How are you doing down there?"_

The fennec interlaced her fingers behind her head and crossed her legs. "You kidding? I've got the best seat in the house." The pilot arched her back and twisted her shoulders, feeling a satisfying set of pops and cracks as her muscles loosened. She grinned beneath her helmet and mask, "Actually, hold off on that rescue boat. I wanna watch the sunset."

Unfortunately for her, physics had other ideas. When the Venomian carrier finally hit the water, it created one hell of a splash. Divot Nine's grin fell as she saw the torrent of water coming straight at her. She knew she'd be fine thanks to the life pod she was currently sealed in, but still…

"Oh, fuck me."

 **Two Hours Later…**

The Star Fox team and two of Divot Squadron's three remaining pilots all stood aboard the Coast Guard rescue hovercraft as they returned to the site of their battle with the Venomian carrier. Lacking any clear runway, they had landed their jets on the beach, as had several dozen other pilots whose craft were capable of vertical takeoff and landing. The fighting had died down an hour and a half ago, with the surrender of the remaining Venomian troops. Night had fallen, as had a light, misty drizzle, but the hovercraft's spotlights illuminated the water around them. Accompanying the six fighter pilots were the boat's pilot himself and five other Coast Guard men. They wore navy blue jumpsuits and bright yellow reflective life vests with emergency glow sticks in case one of them fell overboard. Each of the five canines was standing at a different point on the hovercraft; one at the bow, two at port and starboard amidships, and one at each aft corner. All manned spotlights and scanned their assigned zones with night op visors: one-way ballistic goggles that could switch between night vision, infrared and thermal imaging with the touch of a button.

The vessel's pilot, a hare, called out to them from the pilothouse. "We're getting close to that distress beacon; should be fifty yards east."

"Got it," acknowledged Divot One, a middle-aged greyhound.

Fox stood to his right, hands resting together behind his back. He noted the way the CDF pilot gripped the side railing and felt compelled to say something. "I'm sure she's fine."

The pilot nodded. "Yeah. She's tough, alright." He looked around the boat, shook his head, and gave the railing a whack with the heel of his left hand. "I lost almost everyone under my command today. I don't need to lose one more."

"Contact!" shouted the crewman next to them, whom up until that point had stayed rooted to his portside spot. He scrambled for his spotlight. "Contact! I've got something!" The other pilots all bolted over to them, trying to get a look. Falco was a head taller than Miyu, so in true Miyu fashion, she punched him right in the side. The avian grumbled something not at all decent and moved over to let her in.

The crewman posted at the bow came over to man the spotlight for his comrade. "What have you got?" the black-furred wolf asked in a gravelly voice.

The panther pointed at something only he and his crewmate could see with the assistance of their night op visors. "Faint heat sig. Zero-two-three, sixty out." His buddy shifted his gaze to the point in question, and sure enough, there was a heat signature. The lupine swung a spotlight over to illuminate the area. The halogen beam fell on the crash seat and life pod… but the pilot was nowhere to be found.

"Hey! Little help down here?" came a voice from below. Everyone leaned over the railing and sure enough, the fennec was right next to the boat, treading water with an ear-to-ear grin on her face.

Falco shook his head in disbelief. "She swam all the way to the boat."

"Line out!" The panther tossed a tethered cord over the side with a zipping sound. The synthetic line hit the water and the slack coiled next to the pilot. The vixen grabbed the end, hooked it into the strap on her chest, and gave the crewmen a thumbs-up. She looked up into the glaring spotlight as all five Coast Guard men pulled her out of the water. Fox reached an arm down when she was close enough. They locked forearms, and he pulled her the rest of the way up and into the boat. Everyone took two steps back as the soaking wet vixen shook herself off. Doubled over and not really knowing what else to do, she started laughing. She was _alive!_

Divot One laughed right along with her. "You're supposed to wait for the boat, you maniac."

The fennec straightened herself out and raised her eyebrows. "Really? Must've missed that part in training."

The greyhound looked her up and down. "Christ; aren't you cold? You're going to get hypothermia!"

She dismissed that concern with a roll of her eyes and wave of her paw. "Pfffft. Relax, El-Tee, it's the middle of summer. The water's, like, eighty-two degrees; I could skinny dip all the way to Corneria City from here." Falco and three of the Coast Guard guys erupted into hysterics.

Fox nodded to her with a one-sided smile on his face. "Pretty fancy flying today. I never caught your name."

She leaned forward and they shook hands. "Phoenix. Fara Phoenix."

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** *MLG montage engages as _Donnager_ goes down* Seriously though. I know I take a while to update my fics, but _this_ is the kind of quality you can expect to come out of it. I'm trying to alternate chapters between this and _Retribution_ , my other active fic; that way I can keep both audiences somewhat happy. I've spent thirteen hours, from noon to 1AM, writing the last four thousand words. Suck it, sleep schedule! *immediately passes out on keyboard*

 **CODEX** (gonna try to keep these short)

 **Point Defense (CIWS):** Close-In Weapon Systems; pronounced _sea-whiz_. Close range armaments on warships designed to take down small craft and intercept missiles before they can strike. Variants range from ultraviolet lasers to flak autocannons to pulse beams, but those are just a few examples.

 **UV:** Ultraviolet.

 **Parachutes:** No differences between this and reality that necessitate a lengthy explanation. The most noteworthy difference is that the chute is made of carbon nanotubes to provide a nearly unbreakable weave. Just for real-world reference, carbon nanotubes are currently being looked at for the next generation of infantry body armor, and arguably stronger than everything we issue to our troops now.

 **S &R:** Search and Rescue.

 **Major Factions' Allies:** In this war, the Cornerian Federation (CF) and Venomian Republic (VR) are the superpowers, but both sides have major support across the Lylat System, and each faction has its own unique weapons, ships and gear, all of which will be explained when they come up. Wouldn't want any spoilers, now would we? Anyway, the Cornerian Federation's major allies are the Katina Colonial Republic (KCR), and Fichina Securities Union (FSU), a major private military contractor and arms manufacturing company based out of the Fichina colony and longtime partner of the Cornerian military. The Venomian Republic is mainly supported by an array of corporations and smaller PMCs, the most major of which is Imperium Corporation, a Titania-based arms manufacturer and mercenary force with a brutal combat record.

 **Ship Abbreviations by Faction:** This is just for future reference. _CSS_ = Cornerian Space Ship. _VRN_ = Venomian Republic Navy. _KCS_ = Katina Colonial Ship. _FSN_ = Fichina Securities Navy. _ICV_ = Imperium Corporation Vessel.


	5. Politics and Reassignments

Chapter 5: Politics and Reassignments

000

 **Day 2, 21:00 Hours (West Corneria Standard)**

 **Army Strategic Command Center, Cornerian Countryside**

Reinhardt Shears strode through the halls of the Army STRATCOM center, taking lefts and rights until he found the room he was looking for. Shears stopped well short of the door, as did the panther beside him. Like his boss, Shears' aide wore a formal suit, though the feline's was more of a khaki shade as opposed to the canine's black. His red tie was already close to choking him, but Shears wrapped two fingers around the knot and gave it a tug anyway. He may be the Director of the Cornerian Intelligence Agency, but extra care would serve him well here despite the power he wielded.

His aide hadn't said anything, but Shears knew an unvoiced question when he saw one. "I am reviewing what we know," the canine said as though circumstances were entirely normal.

The panther took a breath, hesitated for a split second, and then responded. "Sir, the Venomians blitzed us. The military was caught flat-footed, and even we had no warning. They have to realize that."

Shears kept his expression neutral, but on the inside he was surprised at the feline's astuteness. _Barely two years in the agency, and he's already picking everything apart like a veteran analyst. But how much else does he know?_

Reinhardt turned to fully face his aide. He shifted the datapad tucked under his left arm to a more comfortable position against his torso. "True. With that in mind, what do you think of this?"

The young panther frowned. "Honestly, sir? I think there's an ulterior motive here."

 _Hm… short, clear and to the point. I need more._ "How do you mean?"

At this, the feline glanced left, then right, and took a step inward. He spoke with a quieter tone, "If this is just a report from the Director of Cornerian Intelligence, why send for you personally when you could have sent the report from your office? Why leave this meeting unannounced, even though protocol mandates a joint leadership summit in the event of an attack?" The shorter animal took another small step forward. "And why ask you to come all the way out here, when we have a holocomm room at HQ? Last I heard, the Chief of Naval Operations was on Fortuna. I really doubt they asked _him_ to move the First Fleet halfway across Lylat just for this conference." The cat looked around again. "I'd be careful in there, sir. Something tells me they're looking to mount someone's head on a pike."

 _He's good; very good, in fact. But he may be_ too _good. Is he a threat?_ The feline raised an eyebrow. "Sir?"

Shears returned his gaze to his aide. _He's concerned. He can tell_ I _am concerned. Even when my emotions should have been indecipherable, he read them like an open book._ The canine straightened his black coat and released a mental sigh. _I cannot take any chances._

"You look tired, Zachary. And with everything that's happened, Catherine must be worried." The younger agent took a breath, but Shears halted the question before it could be voiced. "Take the rest of the day off. Go home; see your wife. I can arrange for my own transportation."

Reinhardt's words were delivered like he was a concerned friend, handicapping the agent's perceptive talents long enough to miss the slight narrowing of Shears' eyes. The panther's lips lifted, and he nodded. "Thank you, Director."

The khaki-suited feline turned on a heel and walked back the way they had come in. Shears looked after him for a moment, his gaze following the junior agent until he rounded a corner. Once his aide was out of sight, Shears exhaled through his nose and almost imperceptibly shook his head. _Unfortunate. I always liked him._

Purging all noncritical thoughts from his mind, Shears pivoted around and strode up to the metal door. He may have been completely disconnected from their chain of command, but the two guards in Army dress reds straightened up nonetheless. Shears rested his palm against the scanner and waited for it to check his DNA with the sample on file. When it was satisfied, the scanner flashed green and made a high-toned beep. Shears stepped through the now open door…

…and into an amalgam of bickering suits and uniforms. Out of more than two dozen individuals present, only General Pepper was not a hologram. From the canine's body language, Shears knew they had been at it for a while. The summit's attendees quieted down one by one as they took notice of the new arrival. _Zachary may have been right. If I've been found out, they have me right where they–_

"Director Shears. Thank you for coming," said the meeting's leader after the noise had fallen off entirely.

Shears gave a small nod in response. "Mr. President."

The tan-furred vulpine brought his hands together in front of him, his hologram flickering slightly as he did so. President Daniel Folsom wore a dark suit similar to Shears', but with a sky-blue tie instead of the Director's red. He had a small Federation Eagle pinned to his left collar: golden and blue, wings spread and clutching a trio of lightning bolts in each talon. At forty-two years of age, the President was among the youngest in the room; one of the few things Shears respected about him. In the world of politics, attaining such a high office at Folsom's age was extremely rare. In Shears' eyes the new President was a fool, but he had to admit the vulpine's charisma was undeniable. From impassioned speeches to critical briefings, Folsom stuck to his guns and was never afraid to make an unpopular decision. Shears may have respected these qualities, but he held little respect for the man himself. The President ticked enough boxes on Shears' checklist to be kept alive for when this was all over, but inverting his beliefs would prove to be… difficult.

 _No matter. Our methods are plentiful in that avenue, should it come to that._

Noting the looks in his direction, Shears stepped the rest of the way onto the holographic pad before him. The circular pad's edges warmed to a blue glow, signifying both the pad's active state and his full visibility to the others. The canine counted to two, allowing time for his image to stabilize before speaking.

"Please, do continue."

"We were discussing the, ah… newfound gaps in our chain of command. You've already been informed; I take it?" The confrontational undercurrent was there for those who knew what to look for. Folsom rarely made direct statements of his dissatisfaction with the CIA's power. Bringing it up here, however subtle, showed the President was growing a thicker skin, and a tougher spine.

Shears nodded, allowing the jab to slide. "If you are referring to Admiral Marcus, then yes." The canine took a breath, "However, it is the method in which he was killed that intrigues me."

A gravelly voice responded. "He was killed in action, Shears. Simple as that." It was General Howard Crawley, the Commandant of the Marine Corps. A scar on the right side of the lupine's face, slashing over his eye, was the result of a grenade about midway through his career, back when he was a lieutenant-colonel in the field. He was declared unfit for combat duty after the injury, a ruling the lupine had vehemently protested. The fact that he had climbed the ladder on the frontlines and only accepted a desk job when he was forced to do so, reflected in the Marines' love for their top commander. He had dug the trenches, laid face down in the mud and taken the bullets right along with them: Howard Crawley knew war firsthand, and made every command decision with that in mind.

Shears raised an eyebrow in return. "Killed in action? Is that what we are calling 'assassination via car bomb' now?" Reactions ranged from mild surprise to outright shock, all of which brought a tinge of satisfaction to the Director. "My agency has studied Venomian military tactics for years. Cruel as they are, setting off IEDs in civilian-heavy areas isn't their usual M.O."

The assembled leadership was obviously still reeling from the news Shears had dropped on them. When one of them finally spoke up, it was the Secretary of Defense, a grey-suited avian. "If it wasn't the Venomians, then who?"

Shears offered a tight smile. "An excellent question, Mr. Secretary. The Venomian Republic…" a few attendees snorted at Venom's official title, "…has plenty of backers; mostly a loose alliance of corporations, mercenaries and pirate gangs. According to our sources, only two of these could have carried out this attack: Titan Industries, or the Imperium Corporation."

The President gained a more aggressive pitch. "The Chief of Naval Operations was killed by a _car bomb_ , and your people can't even do their jobs and find out who _actually_ did it?"

Shears' voice never rose. "Mr. President, if you are suggesting–"

The sound of a fist slamming against a desk pulled the entire summit's attention. "Enough! All of you!" Everyone turned to the source: Vice Admiral Nava Shapira. It was all too clear just how close the white feline was to exploding. "We've been at each other's throats for the past half hour, and it isn't getting us anywhere! We're in charge of protecting the Lylat System, so for the love of God, show some restraint!" Most of the time, the Southern Cornerian twang in her voice was barely detectable; it had taken several weeks for Shears to nail it down himself. Her accent was more evident here, as it tended to thicken with her emotions. Now that she sounded like a deep South native, the vice admiral's mental state was obvious to everyone in the room: she was _pissed_.

The effects were almost immediate. Once the others had relaxed, she did as well. "Yes, the CNO is dead. Yes, it's a serious blow right at kickoff. But we need to move forward."

Out of everyone here, Shears respected her the most. Her soft face and bright blue eyes masterfully concealed the real woman beneath. Shapira was a brilliant tactician; quick with analysis, even quicker with adaptation and response. At age forty-three, she was only a year ahead of President Folsom. The feline had rocketed through the ranks since her graduation from OCS, thanks in no small part to the remarkable dexterity she displayed in all her duties. Her superiors were quick to take notice. Before her fifth year in the fleet was out, she was sewing commander's oak leaves onto her collar and sitting in an Executive Officer's chair; she would have her own ship a year later. Shapira became a fleet-wide celebrity during her tenth year, when the newly promoted commodore led the 40th Patrol Flotilla against the Sargasso Syndicate. Despite every regulation screaming at her to await reinforcements, the feline spearheaded her small contingent of corvettes and destroyers into battle with a much larger Syndicate fleet, dead center in the Sargasso asteroid belt. She emerged in a landslide victory, and Admiral Marcus himself was pinning gold stars on her collar and giving her command of the entire Fifth Fleet almost immediately upon her return.

Nava Shapira had not been nicknamed "The Spear of the Navy" for nothing, and Shears knew he'd do well to recognize her tenacity on and off the battlefield.

President Folsom sighed and rubbed his temples. "I agree. What are our options?"

This time it was General Cornelius Pepper who spoke. He was the only other one physically present with Shears, simply because Army STRATCOM HQ was his emergency base. He would move back into the city once the military had swept it block by block. Shears gave it a week, at most.

"As you all know, I've been overseeing operations on and around Corneria, including the CDF orbital fleet." A few people nodded; all generals and admirals were required to have command training in air, ground, and space theatres. This ensured at least some measure of competence in the case of a high-ranking officer's death. "Search operations on the ground are proceeding quickly, and with very few enemy encounters. My field commanders are ready to lift martial law within the week, provided there are no further attacks." Shears' lips lifted at his sources' accuracy. Everyone else presumed it was due to the report itself, and continued without a comment. "However, it is critical that the Meteo belt receives the same treatment as soon as possible. The CDF fleet, with the assistance of the 72nd Scout Flotilla, should prove adequate."

The Secretary of Defense cleared his throat. "We don't want 'adequate', Pepper. We want them rooted _out_."

A previously silent raven spoke up, "Mr. Secretary, if I may? Rear Admiral Dawson, 11th Fleet. We've just arrived a short time ago. _CSS Matterhorn_ can scramble its aircraft complement on three minutes' notice."

The Secretary nodded in approval. "Thank you, Admiral; that will do nicely. General Pepper, will that suffice, or are you in need of additional assets?"

Pepper folded his left arm across his chest, and tucked his right thumb under his chin. "The Venomians targeted surface bases with extreme prejudice. The damage will take months to repair, but our pilots are making joint use out of minimally operational airbases, as well as civilian airports. Ships in orbit are taking on all craft they can, serving as temporary hangars." He frowned. "In short? It's hectic, but give us twenty-four hours and we should be organized enough to make a sweep."

The President exhaled. "Well, that's some good news."

Pepper nodded his agreement. "Indeed, sir. Ah, one more thing: I have a Navy SpecDiv unit on-site, call sign 'Star Fox'. Their assistance should prove invaluable." The general touched a few buttons on his datapad and swiped his finger across the screen, sending the team's bios to the rest of the summit.

General Crawley asked, "These are the guys that took out that Venomian carrier, right?"

Pepper was about to respond when Shapira cut in. "Wait, what? How many of them were there?"

"Four, plus half a dozen CDF AL5s."

President Folsom tugged on his coat as he turned to face Pepper. "Cornelius, if I didn't know any better, I might think you were joking."

Pepper offered a smile, "Far from it, Mr. President. The CO and his primary team have all been rising stars since their first days at Officer Candidate School. Clearly, their skills have not waned."

"Clearly," echoed Shapira, scanning through the files on her own datapad, "With marks like these… they could make a serious difference."

Pepper smiled again. "My thoughts exactly, Shapira. I hope you have the chance to work together."

"So do I. But that doesn't solve the problem I've got right now."

The President arched an eyebrow. "And what problem is that?"

"The Fifth Fleet and I are sitting all alone out here in Sector Y. We've got _no_ backup, and _no_ support. These gas clouds are playing hell with our sensors, too. If the 'Nomies smell blood in the water, they'll get the drop on us."

"Well, then pull out of Sector Y," said a random congressman as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"One step ahead of you, but that doesn't solve everything. Half the Navy's making a beeline to guard planetary orbits, and someone upstairs tripled my patrol zone overnight. I just _don't have enough ships_ to cover that kind of ground."

Another nameless stuffed shirt offered his two cents, "Reports show no large Venomian fleet movements in that area."

Shapira chuckled and shook her head. "Yeah, not today. How about tomorrow? Or a week from now? If I get knocked off the board out here, Venom has a fast-track shortcut to the core worlds!" The feline's black, gold-buttoned Navy dress uniform rustled as she folded her arms over her chest. "Sooner or later, they're gonna balls up. When they do, you'd all better hope I have enough guns to shoot back."

The admiral waited for a response. When none came, she drew herself up, took in a breath and straightened her coat. "Now, I have a fleet to command and a system to keep safe. If you'll excuse me, I should see to the security of both." She smiled, and gave a small bow. "Send me an encrypted report if you decide on anything important. Otherwise… good day."

With that, Vice Admiral Shapira made a crisp about-face and marched off of her pedestal. The signal cut two seconds later, leaving the summit in uncomfortable silence. There were a few awkward coughs as everyone, it seemed, was looking for anyone else to break the ice.

Eventually, General Crawley cleared his throat and did the honors. "Figured you should know, Cornelius… the Marines are calling her the salt to your pepper."

Marines being Marines, there was always a double entendre. Fortunately, most of the absent-minded politicians in the room assumed he was only referring to the admiral's white fur and take-no-shit personality. The military commanders' reactions, along with those of the President and a few senators, showed their higher intelligence. Even Shears allowed himself a quiet chuckle.

000

The meeting continued for another hour: plans were finalized for the Meteo sweep, Katina's military recruitment had skyrocketed, and enemy ships were prodding Fortuna's defenses. Of course, the politicians had to draw out _every single detail_. Shears was unsurprised when Pepper's exhaustion finally shone through once the last holo-projection pad fizzled out. The Director knew what he would soon be ordered to do, and he honestly regretted it. Pepper had never sought personal recognition, and like Crawley, he had only accepted the promotion to general status when the alternative was retirement. He was a good man, and he only wanted what was best for Corneria.

But what the Chancellor would want, the Chancellor would get.

"Walk with me, Reinhardt?" It was a kind request, from one friend to another.

Shears nodded and fell into step beside the general as they exited the meeting room. The soldiers in their path moved aside and stood at attention as they passed. After a good minute's walking, the pair came to the general's personal office. The Director averted his eyes while Pepper typed his code into the fingerprint-sensitive keypad: he already knew the eight-digit combination by heart, and had skin graft-ready impressions of all ten of his prints locked up at HQ.

The lock chimed, a muted _thunk_ was heard, and Pepper opened the door to his office. The first things Shears noticed were the twin Cornerian Federation flags occupying the far wall. Each depicted a silver eagle with its wings spread, clutching three golden lightning bolts in each talon, surrounded by golden laurels on both sides and set against a light blue background. In front of the flags sat a wide oak desk, with a few odds and ends strewn across the surface and a black high-backed swivel chair sitting behind it. Two stuffed leather chairs facing the desk and a carpeted floor rounded out the room's most notable features; aside from those, Pepper's office was very Spartan in nature. His public office in the Federation Joint Command Center, a skyscraper located near the heart of Corneria City, held most of the decorated officer's eye candy.

Shears took a seat without asking permission; he and Pepper knew each other well enough to eliminate the need for such formalities. Pepper in turn settled into his own high-backed chair. "Drink?" asked the officer as he undid the top two clasps of his uniform.

Shears smiled. "Please." _I'll miss that, too._

Cornelius rolled his chair back a few inches, bent down and opened a drawer to his right. The canine produced a bottle of scotch along with two glasses. He swirled the bottle's contents a few times, opened the top, and poured a small amount into each glass. The general slid one into Shears' hand, capped the bottle and placed it back in the drawer.

Shears lifted the short glass to his muzzle and drew a sip. "Cornelius?"

"Yes?" the general answered, settling down in a comfortable slouch as he raised his own glass.

Shears slowly rotated the scotch glass in his right paw, observing how the light passed through one side and scattered against the amber liquid within. "They're firing me, aren't they?"

To a trained agent like Shears, Pepper's surprise was evident, as was his suspicion. The Director was quick to add, "I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't know."

Pepper exhaled and nodded. "I suppose so." The general gave his glass a swirl before taking a sip, "Then I assume you also know I formally protested that decision?"

"Indeed. Vice Admiral Shapira did as well, if I am informed correctly."

The red-uniformed canine cracked a smile. "You are."

"She certainly is… impassioned. The Venomians call her a fanatic, you know."

Pepper snorted in amusement. "That's because they're scared of her. It's unfortunate that her style is working just as much against her as it is for her. Quite a few of those stuffed suits on the Congressional floor say she's too hot-headed for her rank. They say she's dangerous."

Shears raised an eyebrow. "And your opinion on the matter?"

Cornelius took another drink before responding, "I agree with the second part; just not in the way they see it. They think you're 'dangerous' if you have to bend a regulation every now and then." He punctuated the remark with a wave of his hand, "In her own words, Nava 'snaps the rulebook in half and spaces it out the nearest airlock.' Difference is, she only does it when following the regs would cost lives, or when ditching them would net a serious tactical advantage."

Shears nodded in genuine assent. "Such individuals are quite rare, even in my own organization." Though its delivery was perfectly normal, that last word had the intended effect of bringing the meeting back on rails.

Pepper uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "But, back to business." He exhaled in anger at the President's scapegoating of Shears. General and Director may not have always agreed on methods, but the former understood the latter's necessity. That went triple for times like these, which was why Pepper had brought Shears here in the first place. "Yes, they are discharging you. Technically, I'm not supposed to tell you that… but then, you already figured it out for yourself, so no harm done."

 _President Folsom. What an ignorant fool._ "Unfortunate, but expected."

"That's not all."

Reinhardt canted his head. "Oh?" He had actually heard nothing of additional punishment.

Cornelius grimaced. "I'm afraid not." After a few seconds of taking extreme interest in his desk's oak paneling, Pepper decided it would be easier if he just came out with it. He really wished the President hadn't been aware of Reinhardt's prior tenure as an Army officer. "Long story short, Folsom gave me direct orders to bust you down to Captain and send you back out in the field."

At that, Shears' long-trained emotional mask finally shattered. _No! Impossible! Everything I have worked towards, the plans I have made; it will all fall apart!_ Shears tightened his grip on the chair's armrests. "This is bullshit, Pepper! It's a smear job!" His words were delivered through clenched teeth.

Pepper nodded, silently fuming himself. "I know. That's the real reason I called you in here."

That revelation grabbed Shears' attention. "Pardon?"

His counterpart leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. "I can help you."

Reinhardt's eyes narrowed slightly. "How do you mean?" _Let's hear you out, old friend._

"You never officially resigned your commission when you joined the CIA, so you've technically still been an officer all this time. You haven't been in the field so there's only so much I can do for your advancement. With your time in the service alone, I can have you bumped up two ranks and made a lieutenant-colonel within the week."

 _Interesting…_ "Thank you. But what about the President?"

"Folsom? You let me worry about him. He's wanted you gone from his first day in office. I can keep your name off his desk indefinitely… which is extremely important for what comes next."

 _My, my, Cornelius, you are more cunning than I thought. What are you playing at?_ Outwardly, Shears only waited for the general to continue.

"The CIA does its job well enough in times of peace, but its methods will be ineffective in a war. The Agency is designed to operate against governments, terror cells and the like."

"But not armies."

Pepper nodded, echoing his friend's statement. "But not armies. That's why I am creating a new entity within the Department of Military Command." Cornelius produced a datapad from within his desk, touched a few buttons, and slid it over to Shears.

Reinhardt took in the important bits as he skimmed the file. He would read the thing in its entirety later. "Blackwatch?" the canine asked, referring to the apparent codename.

"Yes. A new top-secret arm of Joint Military Intelligence. Officially, its tasks are gathering information on enemy forces and executing covert strikes accordingly. Blackwatch aims to bring both combat and intelligence operations into one single project."

Shears raised an eyebrow. "And unofficially?"

"Unofficially?" Pepper leaned in nice and close, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, "I want you to win this war, by any means necessary."

"Very well. But, I must ask: why me?"

Pepper let out a snort of laughter. "You're a good soldier, Reinhardt, and you're an even better Intel operative. I'll be damned before I see you go to waste."

Shears smiled at his friend's praise. "What assets will I have?"

"Everything you need. Analysts, cutting-edge equipment, assassins, special operators, demolition techs, hackers; I can shuffle whatever you require from the Special Projects budget."

 _Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Beyond perfect, even. My friend, you've just played the Lylat System right into my hands._ A predatory smile crossed his face. "When do we start?"

000

 **22:00 Hours, aboard** _ **CSS Great Fox**_

" _Arwing Three, coming into dock."_ Krystal's Arwing crossed through the hangar's atmospheric shield, gracefully settling up into one of the ceiling-mounted docking clamps. One of the flight techs took it from there, rotating the clamps a hundred and eighty degrees and then moving the starfighter back until it rested against the hangar's catwalk alongside its three counterparts. Divots One and Nine pulled in behind her. Due to the Arwing's lengthy shutdown process, both CDF pilots were on their feet and had joined the group on the catwalk before Krystal had so much as killed her engines.

Aside from the two CDF pilots, Fox, Falco, Miyu and a few crewmembers waited on the catwalk, off to the side and away from the Arwing's ionized plasma wash. Once the vixen's engines died down, Falco took on a disturbingly horrible impression of her accent. "Oi, luv, I'm landed, innit?"

One of the three crewmembers, a spaniel, erupted into a fit of giggles. Seeing how she was the only one who did, Fox wasn't sure whether it was out of pity or if she actually thought it was funny. Either way he wouldn't have much time to contemplate it: a painful screeching sound blasted through all their commlinks out of nowhere. Falco ripped his earpiece out. "Gah! Mother–"

Still in her cockpit, the vixen smirked. "Say again, Falco?" she said, continuing to rake a fingernail across her transmitter, "Think your mic was stuck open."

With that, Krystal popped her Arwing's canopy, planted a hand on the fuselage and swung herself out the left side. Her boots hit the catwalk with a _clang_ , and she stood up and stretched. The vixen kept her gaze zeroed at Falco while she walked up to the group, along with a certain finger.

"Telepath, you idiot," she said with a long, suffering shake of her head, as though she were speaking to an irritating child. In some ways, she was right. "Still a telepath."

Fox wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter, choosing instead to give orders to one of the flight techs. Krystal caught a few bits about his ECM jammers and deduced he was ordering the technician to find out just what the hell had gone wrong. She was very interested in discovering that herself: remembering how the vulpine's jet had disappeared in a fireball didn't exactly sit well with her stomach.

Fara was surprised when the technician responded with "You got it," instead of "Aye, aye, sir." What really threw her off was how Commander McCloud nodded and gave him a cuff on the arm. _I'd heard he was informal, but that was hardly even military._ She added an extra line to her already mile-long list of questions, all of which she knew to save for later.

Fox clapped his hands. "Right. Shall we, then?"

Fara shook herself out of her musings and jogged to catch up. As they wound through halls and hatches, the crew moved out of the captain's way. Instead of standing at attention when he passed, most just kept an informal stance. Some even had their hands in their pockets. Fara was informal herself, but she always made a mad dash for the rulebook when dealing with her superiors. Her squadron leader was a rare exception, and that had taken a few good years. For McCloud's rank and recognition, the fennec thought he would have to be a textbook officer. That couldn't have been further from the truth.

Still, McCloud was knocking on the door of senior officer ranks, while she was just a 1st Class Airman. The crew may be on a different standing with him, but she and the rulebook were going to be best friends until Fort Willis was ready to take her and Divot One back.

"Captain on the bridge!" drawled out one of the officers as Fox stepped through the hatch. In sharp contrast to what Fara had seen thus far, everyone rose from their stations, pivoted towards the group and brought their heels together with a collective stomp.

In yet another unexpected move, Fox drew himself up and delivered a textbook salute. "As you were," he ordered with just a hint of that famous "commander's tone."

"SIR!" the bridge crew sounded off in unified chorus, returning the salute with boot camp crispness. Fara could tell what she had just witnessed was out of great respect, rather than tradition or regulation. As the bridge crew returned to their duties, McCloud walked up to the apparent Executive Officer (XO): an older hare with commander's silver oak leaves on his collar.

"Commander," Fox addressed the hare as he saluted again, though this one was much more relaxed.

"Commander," the hare replied, giving an equally casual salute in return.

"Permission to come aboard?" Fox had his back to her, but Fara could practically _feel_ the smirk plastered on his face.

Commander Hare – Fara had read his nametag – cracked a smile of his own. "Permission granted." Both men dropped their salutes, and for a moment they just stood there. Then they both stepped forward into a very friendly, and _very_ informal hug.

"Glad to see you're okay, kid," said the XO like they were father and son.

Fox's grin went full on ear-to-ear. "You too, ya grizzled old bunny." The XO just chuckled at the jab, as did some of the other bridge personnel.

Fara couldn't help it anymore. Her maw fell open in complete and utter shock, and her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. When Miyu glanced down at the culture-shocked fennec, she was hard-pressed to keep a straight face.

"Eh', Commander?" she called out, "Think ya broke our guest over here." It took a moment for those words to reach Fara's ears. When they did, she snapped her jaw shut and spun towards the snickering lynx. Miyu's smug grin was insufferable enough, so why did she have to be so god damned _tall_?

Fox had rejoined the group somewhere in the interim. "Miss Phoenix?"

Fara shook her head to clear out the cobwebs. "Uh… yes, sir?"

"You did great work today. I'm impressed."

"But… I got shot down."

Fox pointed at her and countered, "You faced down an aircraft carrier. And you kept up with that insane lynx over there." He jerked his thumb in Miyu's direction, but kept his gaze leveled on Fara. "The way I see it? You're an ace in the making, no doubt about it."

Every word was delivered with a dead serious tone. All Fara could think to say was, "Thank you."

Fox gave a firm nod, raising his voice enough to address the other pilots. "The same goes for all of you. Now, find your quarters and get some rest."

Fara raised a finger. "Sir? All due respect, isn't there supposed to be a debriefing?"

The vulpine shook his head and wave his hand. "We'll take care of that in the morning. We spent all of yesterday fighting, barely got any sleep, and then spent all of today helping the Search and Rescue teams." Fox exhaled, and his posture seemed to deflate along with it. "Nobody wants to admit it, but we are fried. So, do yourselves a favor and hit the rack. You've all earned it."

Falco stretched his arms over his head. "Amen," he said with a bit of strain as his joints popped. Falco turned to leave, but then he remembered the two CDF pilots. He motioned at Divot One. "Come on, Bradford. You can sleep with me."

"Uhh…" The German shepherd coughed and took a half-step back, much to Falco's confusion.

Half the bridge collapsed into unrestrained laughter. Krystal was doubled over, clutching at her sides and sucking in desperate gasps for air. She looked close to suffocating.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny," Falco droned over his shoulder as he made a quick exit.

Fara allowed her mask to crack just a bit. "Hey, El-Tee? If he makes a move on you, call security."

The lieutenant snorted. "Nah. I'll just call you." He thanked Fox again before ducking out.

Fox wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, God. I needed that." He took a deep breath. "Alright. As for you, Miss Phoenix… you'll bunk with Krys– ahem, Lieutenant Zonoc, for the night. That alright with you?"

"Yessir," the fennec replied, giving herself a subsequent mental kick for rushing it like a kid out of boot camp. _Don't want to seem like I'm wound_ too _tight._

"Absolutely," Krystal affirmed.

Fox smiled and clapped his hands. "Great."

Krystal took a breath. "Could I talk with you for a minute, first?"

He blinked. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Miyu uncrossed her arms and pushed herself off the wall. "I got her." The lynx jerked her head sideways, beckoning the pilot to follow.

Fara caught up with her a few meters down the hall. Most of the enlisted personnel and lower-ranked officers they passed wore the Cornerian Federation Navy's black jumpsuit-style uniform, though she would occasionally spot crewmembers with different attire. As for the standard-issue uniform, the jumper featured a short, stiff upturned collar that held the crewman's rank pins, and a large rank patch over the right bicep. The wearer's nametag was sewn above the left breast pocket. Between all of the spacers' uniforms, there was a variety of other patches and flashes on display whose meanings she could only guess at. Mag strips had replaced the ancient concept of buttons, though they were still arranged vertically from the neck down. Everyone had their jumpers tucked into black belts somewhere between waist and navel height. The sides of each jumper, from the armpits to the waist, were colored according to its owner's job, as was a stripe running down the sides of the pants. There was yellow for Engineering and Technicians, blue for Security, white for Medical, red for Damage Control, and green for Support. The ship's complement of Marines could be easily spotted by their bulkier grey blouse-and-trouser combat fatigues. Fara knew those were just the general departments, and that each one covered a whole plethora of jobs, duties and responsibilities. Beyond that, she didn't really know the specifics. _What I'd give to learn, though. I'll be damned if I spend this war patrolling Corneria._

They traded a few questions during the walk, mostly about their respective careers. Along the way, Fara noticed several ladders (at least, that was what the Navy called "really steep and cramped stairs"), and even a few anachronistic fireman-style poles.

"What's with all the stairs and poles? Didn't the Navy get rid of those decades ago?"

Miyu seemed confused for a few seconds. She snapped her fingers when the _ah-ha_ moment hit her. "Ah. This is an old _Halcion_ -class battleship. Last one to have the ol' chutes and ladders. That's what us spacers called 'em anyway. Navy got a turbolift fetish after that." She patted a bulkhead affectionately. "I think they're idiots. What happens when you lose power?"

"Don't you still have turbolifts?"

"'Course we do. People use 'em, but that's usually when they're carrying something heavy, or if they're quite a few decks away from where they need to be." Fara saw her smirk again. "Or… maybe they're just a skinny flygirl that hasn't done any PT since boot camp."

"Hey!"

Miyu grinned and gave her a playful shove. "Oh, relax; I'm just joking. Jeez, you're wound tighter than a screw." Fara made a disgruntled noise and shoved her hands into her flight suit's pockets, kicking at an imaginary pebble in the process. Miyu's grin only widened as she slapped Fara on the shoulder blade. "Come on, Screw. Let's go." _Gods above, please don't let that stick._

They kept walking, and before long they moved up a couple of ladders into officer country. Fara was again surprised (a feeling she was accustomed to at this point) to find that a large number of the hatches on this deck were old-fashioned _wooden_ doors. With _knobs_. In _space_. The fennec didn't even know what kind of sound escaped her throat, but she did know one thing:

"If I wake up next morning with my head sewn to the mattress, I'd be less surprised than I am right now."

Miyu laughed. "Yep, Big Navy got rid of this too. On the bigger ships, most of the officers got their own quarters back in the day. Enlisted crew had a lot more space too; you'd have four, maybe eight guys to a room. Rooms were bigger, of course."

The lynx stopped for some unspoken reason and turned towards one of the doors. Fara read the brass placard on its surface: _LCDR F. Lombardi_. This obviously wasn't the room she wanted, so Fara was about to ask what they were doing here.

That is, until Miyu drove the tip of her boot into the door. The sound of something shattering came from the other side, as did a muffled _"Christ!"_ The lynx cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Who's my favorite butt buddy?!" There was nothing at all civil about the reply, but Miyu walked away before she could hear most of it. Upon closer inspection, Fara counted several similar scuff marks on the door before she moved to catch up.

Miyu never offered an explanation for what she'd just done. A few doors later, they came up to Krystal's quarters. The lynx opened the door for her. "Well… here we are."

"Thanks for the walk."

"No problem. If we've got the time tomorrow, I'll see if Fox can show you around the ship."

Fara crossed her arms. "…You're on a first-name basis with your commanding officer?"

Miyu shrugged like it was the most normal thing in Lylat. "Meh. You get used to it. Oh, top bunk, by the way." The vixen followed Miyu's finger to the military steel-framed bunk bed. She tried to take in more of the room; she really did. But seeing that bed almost caused her to salivate right then and there. Seeing the expression on her face, Miyu snorted and bade her goodnight before leaving to hug her own pillow. Fara tore off her boots without even unlacing them, but she did set them nicely against the foot of the bed. The top bunk had no covers of any kind; it even lacked a pillow – nobody slept on the thing anyway – but Fara couldn't care less. The fennec all but vaulted up the three-step ladder at the foot of the bed and flopped out on the mattress like it was her final resting place. _Didn't even bring a change of clothes. Guess I can worry about that tomorrow._ She groaned in bliss as a knot in her back gave way. _These flight suits are thermal-lined anyway; I'll be fine for tonight._

A few minutes later, Krystal opened the door and drove her legs towards the bed. She stripped out of her urban grey slash-camouflaged blouse along the way – she and Fox never had time to change into her flight suits – and dumped it into a corner without a care in the world. That done, Krystal made her way to the bed, sat down on the lower mattress, and reached down to untie her left boot.

"Did Miyu give you any trouble on the way here?"

"Huh?" Fara asked from the top bunk, fingers interlocked behind her head, one leg lazily draped over the other.

Krystal exhaled, and something along the lines of 'that's what I was afraid of' floated up into her ears. "How badly did she torment you?"

The question was casual and friendly, but Fara's manners still made her tread with care. "She's… quite a character."

"If you think _she_ is a handful, you should see her girlfriend."

Fara's eyes widened. "I don't know if I believe that." She wasn't sure which part she didn't believe: that Miyu's apparent partner was even more of a troublemaker, or that the lynx had even settled with _one_ specific partner in the first place. Probably both.

Krystal chuckled. " _I_ didn't until I saw a ninety-pound, five-foot-naught furball tackle her like _that_ ," she finished with a snap of her fingers.

Unsure how to address her temporary bunkmate, Fara went the safe route.

"Lieutenant?"

Krystal stopped midway through pulling off her left boot. "Oh-ho, no, no, no," the sapphire vixen shifted around to look up at Fara, shook her head and wagged a finger, "Call me Krystal. I insist."

Fara took a breath. "As long as you call me Fara." Feeling a lot better now that the ice was broken, the fennec moved to ask her original question. "So… what's with the CO?"

Krystal furrowed her brow as she unlaced her other boot. "Pardon?"

"I mean, he's so… casual."

Krystal's soft laugh raised more questions than it did answers.

000

 **23:00 Hours**

 **Highway 30, Millikan Pass, Mountain Range East of Corneria City**

 _Corneria City – 75 KM._ The panther rubbed his eyes and refocused on the road. The two-lane mountain pass was practically empty of other cars, save for the occasional motorist going the other way. Director Shears had told him to take his car and go home, but the agent had still waited at the base for an hour and a half. When the clock struck 10:30, he knew he would risk falling asleep at the wheel if he didn't get on the road. He had convinced himself to leave with the idea that the drive would be calming, but that was proven false after all of five minutes. Now a half hour into the drive home, the darkness coupled with the empty mountain road had only allowed for his mind to run rampant. _I hope I was wrong. The last thing we want right now is political infighting._

His wristcom provided a welcome distraction when it alerted him to an incoming call. The agent slowed down and took his hands of the wheel, reaching up to undo his shirt's top button and loosen his brown tie – now he could speak free of throat constriction. The feline pulled back his left sleeve to read the contact info on his wristcom. He sighed in relief at the name. _Bro, your timing is perfect._

The agent reached up to the device in his right ear, a wireless audio receiver/transmitter. The panther held two fingers against it for a full second, signaling his wristcom to accept the call. A thin mic extended from the small black earpiece on an even thinner wire.

"Hey, Marty," he said in casual greeting.

" _Zach? That you, buddy?"_

"I dunno; you called me. What's up?"

The other person sounded offended. _"What's up? I don't know; maybe the fact that a_ war _just started. Are you alright?"_

The agent grimaced. "Man, I'm sorry. I'm fine, I promise. In fact, I'm driving home right now."

" _Wanna meet up at Hoover's? I'll buy you a round."_

"Uh, actually, I'm up in Millikan Pass. Won't be home until after midnight."

" _Millikan Pass? What the hell are you doing all the way out there?"_

Zachary scratched the back of his neck. "Well, uh… long story."

A short laugh came through the speaker. _"Uh-huh. Some hush-hush covert ops, if-I-tell-you-I'll-have-to-kill-you type of shit?"_

The feline laughed in turn. "No, I just had to drive somebody."

" _I gotcha. Look… sorry about what I said; I just… I'm worried about you."_

"C'mon, Marty. I'm twenty-three, and you're, what, two years older than me? Why are you acting like I'm your little brother?"

" _Do you even need to ask?"_ His friend's voice took on a Shakespearian level of melodrama. _"You are Zachary Palmer, CIA agent. You hunt this planet's enemies, while I, a mere mortal, am stuck in humble retail."_

Zachary laughed again. "Hunting bad guys isn't exactly my department, Marty."

" _Look, dude, it's all the same to me. To those damned 'Nomies out there, you're the freaking secret police."_ A sigh came over the line. _"They could send you out to some hellhole at the drop of a hat. Yeah, you'd be kickin' tail and smokin' bad guys, but who knows how long you'd be out of contact?"_

The feline was about to tell his friend to stop watching so many spy movies when he saw a pair of headlights approaching in his rear-view mirror.

" _You still there, bro?"_

"Yeah, I'm here," the agent said off-handedly as he slowed down and tapped his brakes. "Just gonna let this guy pass." From the engine noise and how high the vehicle's lights sat up, he could tell the other vehicle was an SUV. Its jet-black paint job didn't let him see much else under the blanket of darkness. Not that it mattered; he was hardly concerned with another random motorist.

It mattered a hell of a lot more when the headlights disappeared.

"What the…?" He squinted into the mirror. The other car's lights reappeared just as quickly, this time with the high beams on. Zach jerked his head away and brought an arm up to cover his eyes. "Gah! Nice brights, asshole!"

" _Zach? Something wrong?"_

The agent flicked his gaze between the road and his mirror. "This guy's not going around. I'll pull over and– whoa!" He spun the wheel to the left, swerving into the oncoming lane as the SUV lurched forward, avoiding a crash by mere inches. "Son of a bitch, this guy's trying to run me off the road!"

Zach kept one eye on the road and the other on the aggressor's vehicle. When the driver tried to sideswipe the smaller car, Zach hit the brakes and narrowly slipped behind him. The feline pulled back into the right-hand lane and stomped on the accelerator. In this test of speed, the Director's modified sedan was superior. Having no desire to let his target slip away, the attacker jerked the wheel again, intent on another ram. This time, Zachary wasn't fast enough. The SUV slammed into the side of the car, jarring Zach in his seat. The agent knew the car's hidden armor plating had saved his hide. He made the most of the opportunity, reaching down between the right side of the seat and the center console. His fingers brushed against metal, and he wrapped his paw around the object's grip. "You are _not_ taking me out."

From his end, the panther's friend only heard the _cli-click_ of a pistol slide. _"Zach? Zach, talk to me!"_

"Not right now– FUCK!" Zach ducked, and a heavy gunshot boomed in his ears. A high-caliber tungsten slug flew right over his head and embedded itself in the passenger's seat while crystalline bits of glass showered into his lap. The assassin flicked his thumb on the magnetic revolver's hammer, switching chambers and slotting in another round. He shifted his aim, and fired again. There was a sickly wet ripping sound, and the feline screamed as the projectile tore into the side of his stomach. Needing a clearer target, Zachary slammed his elbow into the driver's side window and shattered the already weakened pane. Some of the larger shards cut through his suit and sliced into his arm, but he had too much adrenaline running through his system to care.

When his assailant missed his third shot, Zach returned fire. The embedded recoil pads in the Director's pistol allowed him to reliably shoot one-handed. Aiming with his right and steering with his left, the CIA agent retaliated with a passion. Muzzle flashes bathed the otherwise darkened vehicle in red with each pull of the trigger. He wasn't quite sure how many rounds he'd fired, but he had clearly hit something when the SUV cut away from their side-by-side duel.

"That's right, asshole! I shoot back!" was all he had the chance to say before the larger vehicle careened back across the road and hit the sedan again. Having lost a fair amount of blood already, Zachary's grip finally failed him. His paw slipped off the wheel at the worst possible time, and the car spun towards the ditch. Both vehicles had lost control, though: the SUV crashed into the sedan for a third time, mid-spin. The end result was that Zachary's car skidded to a halt in the middle of the road, while the attacker himself ended up in the ditch.

For a moment, he considered just keeping his eyes closed. _No! If you die here, you'll never find out who did this!_ With that, the feline managed to pick his head up off of the steering wheel and look at himself in the rear-view mirror. He looked like hell, and not just because of the gash in his forehead leaking crimson down into his eyes. Unbuckling his seatbelt took a lot more effort than it should have; that wasn't a good sign.

He reached for the door handle, and was at once surprised and thankful when it opened just fine – the Agency built to last. In his weakened state, though, all the agent could do was fall sideways out of the car. Grinding his teeth so he wouldn't cry out, Zachary shoved himself up onto his hands and knees. Using the fender as support, he tentatively regained his footing. Keeping the Director's handgun raised with his right arm, the feline focused his energy on putting one foot in front of the other. He was walking amid a veritable sea of broken glass: tiny crystalline shards crunched under his dress shoes with every step.

The SUV's door flew open and the driver stepped out, brandishing a short-barreled assault rifle. Zach planted two rounds straight in his chest without a second thought. The animal's gun went flying as he was knocked back against the truck's open door and dropped face down in the dirt. Zach kept his sidearm trained on the would-be assassin's motionless form until he was certain the man was down for good.

 _It's over… I'm alive…_

He knew it was far from over, but in that moment, everything started to go all blurry. Had there always been two SUVs chasing him? And was he supposed to feel weak in the knees? Was vomiting up blood a normal thing to do?

His blood-starved brain failed to answer any of those questions, but he did notice a second truck – for real this time – pull up and stop at a healthy distance. _And that would be his backup._ Too exhausted to fight, let alone stand, Zach collapsed onto the tarmac.

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Generals can't lead navies. Sorry, Miyamoto, that's just not how it works. So, I split the command structure up. I know there were a lot of OCs in this chapter, but don't worry: you don't have to remember _any_ of them… maybe except Zach. Aside from him, the only OCs from this chapter that matter at all are President Folsom, General Crawley, Admiral Shapira, and maybe one or two more. Still, I'll do my best to provide reminders so you all don't have to juggle a metric ton of names.

And we will be seeing more of Zachary Palmer. His story is indeed far from over.

On another note, we got to see the _Great Fox_ in this chapter! Yay! More on that in a bit. As for thanks, I can't give enough of those to general whitefur and Xengo. You guys are freaking legends. And FurFur's new AU is the unquestionable, indisputable bomb. What are you doing here? You could be reading his stuff; it's way better than mine!

Next chapter should be shorter. I gave you all a taste of the _Great Fox_ here; I plan to spend most of Chapter 6 on a full tour, introducing the rest of the team in the process.

Until then, cheers!

 _SergeantLawson_

 **Trivia**

What the hell _is_ Shears' canonical first name, anyway? I don't know, so I called him Reinhardt because of a late-night Steam chat with general whitefur. As soon as he said, "That immediately made me think SS," I was like, okay, we'll go with that. As for the man himself, he will be _much_ more threatening than, I don't know, a dude who rides a boar, tries to duel with Fox and gets shrekt by a floating Andross head? Yeah, GG, buddy.

"Sarge, what the hell is Blackwatch?" Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Sorry to tell you, but Blackwatch actually heard you ask that. Don't resist; make this easier for the both of us.

I tried to make the _Great Fox_ unique for this fic. The atmosphere I'm going for is something like this: it's more like friends and family than military protocol with daily life (even though military influence is still there), but once the alert klaxons go up, the gloves come off and everyone snaps into full discipline mode. Did that make sense? Oh well, you know where to verbally slap me senseless if it didn't.

Fara will loosen up, don't you worry. It won't be instant, but it'll happen quickly. And no, **there will be ZERO bullshit love triangles here!** That angle is overplayed, predictable, and far too uninteresting because we all know which pairing we'll end up with.

The Navy's dress uniform is black. The Army's dress uniform is red. The Marine Corps' dress uniform is green. The Air Corps' dress uniform is blue. The CDF's dress uniform is "Who cares? They're basically the Coast Guard."

 **Word Count: 9,702**. 17 pages in Microsoft Word. Without the Author's Note and other attached stuff, the chapter text alone totals out at a headache-inducing 8,758 words. This is the longest chapter I have ever written. For anything. Ever. "Nova Prospekt" from _Uprising_ is now a close second, at 8K-something. Goddammit, 10K mark, I **will** conquer you before this fic is through!

 **CODEX**

 **Blackwatch: [DATA CORRUPTED]**

 _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **:** An old _Halcion_ -class (definitely not a Halo reference) battleship that serves as Star Fox's mobile command center. The ship has undergone massive overhauls and retrofits since its original commissioning, both to meet Star Fox's demands and to keep its specs in line with the rest of the fleet. I could put a lengthy description here, but I'm going to spend most (if not all) of Chapter 6 touring the ship, so I figured there was no point doing it early. Same goes for all the different uniform color-coding, job specialties, etc.

 **General Navy Jargon:** Navy speak pretty much just rolls off my tongue at this point, even in day-to-day conversations; I kid you not. So let's just clear this up right now, shall we? Bulkheads are walls, hatches are doors, lifts are elevators, ladders and stairs are the same thing on ships, "the deck" is the floor, "the head" is the bathroom, racks/bunks are beds, "stem to stern" means front to back… yeah there's a lot. And that's probably not even half of what I'll use throughout this fic. I will do my best to keep everything understandable, but _**let me know if it's so bad that it's practically Klingon! If it really is that bad, I might pull down the chapter in question, edit the heck out of it, and then put it back up!**_

 **SpecDiv:** Short for "Special Division." I'll cover what this actually is in chapter 6. Figure it's about time anyway, and I might as well do it contextually.

 **KCR:** Katina Colonial Republic. I lied, by the way. Fortuna is the second most populated world in Lylat, not freaking Tatooine Katina.

 **CO:** Commanding Officer; pronounced _sea-oh_. A military unit's leader, be it a four-man fire team or an entire Marine battalion.

 **XO:** Executive Officer; pronounced _ex-oh_. The number two; the silver medalist; the unrecognized sidekick; the CO's Buzz Aldrin. They may not be number one on paper, but in larger units (especially on ships), the XO and the officers below him/her are just as vital in keeping it all together.

 **Military Phonetic Alphabet:** Might as well shove this somewhere. **A** lpha, **B** ravo, **C** harlie, **D** elta, **E** cho, **F** oxtrot, **G** olf, **H** otel, **I** ndia, **J** uliet, **K** ilo, **L** ima, **M** ike, **N** ovember, **O** scar, **P** apa, **Q** uebec, **R** omeo, **S** ierra, **T** ango, **U** niform, **V** ictor, **W** hiskey, **X** -ray, **Y** ankee, **Z** ulu.


	6. CSS Great Fox

Chapter 6: _CSS Great Fox_

 **July 15, 0530 Hours (Great War: Day 3 [0y:0m:0w:3d])**

 _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **, Docked at Corneria Orbital Shipyard 2**

 **Resupplying from Allied Forces**

 _"Reveille, reveille. All hands, reveille."_ Fara poked an eye open at the loudspeaker. Having no desire to wake up, she curled in on her side and willed the voice to go away. The next few seconds were blissfully silent, and she sighed as a contented smile crept across her face.

Then the bosun whistle came on, blaring its six loud, drawn out tones with all the subtlety of a freight train. Fara yelped in surprise and spasmed out of the fetal position, scrambling to cover her ears against the wakeup call from hell. The horrid noise left just as quickly as it had arrived, but the damage was already done.

"Are you alright?" asked a soft accented voice. Fara reopened her eyes (she had screwed them shut) to see Krystal already on her feet, regarding the CDF pilot with mild concern. The sapphire vixen was still clad in her black tee-shirt and urban slash-camo trousers from yesterday.

"What. The hell. Was that?" hissed Fara through clenched teeth, finally loosening the vice grip on her temples as the ringing in her ears receded.

Krystal quirked an eyebrow. "The bosun whistle…?"

"Every morning?" Having accepted going back to sleep wasn't an option, Fara swung her legs off the mattress and climbed down the three-rung ladder.

She blinked. "Of course. Why - oh." The puzzle pieces clicked together in her head like a deadbolt latching into place. She couldn't prevent a short laugh from escaping, but she had the courtesy to cover her mouth with her fingertips.

Fara shook her head in wonder. "Why would you do that to yourselves?"

Krystal rested a hand on her hip and smirked. "I suppose a man with lungs the size of the Grantham Isles blasting on a trumpet is an improvement, then?"

Fara's posture deflated, the past two days having left her without enough energy to put up a comeback. She opened her mouth to ask something, but the question deserted her mind when Krystal pulled off her shirt. The sapphire vixen was reaching for the metal drawers built into her bedframe when she saw Fara's maw still hanging open. She'd likely just forgotten to close it, but Krystal still found the fennec's culture-shocked _what in the hell is my life right now_ approach to the past several hours cute in its own way.

She didn't voice any of that, though, opting instead to ask: "Where else would I change?" Her counterpart blushed and stuck her hands in her flight suit's pockets, embarrassment written all over her face. Krystal had no idea part of that blush had originated from comparing the Cerinian's rather impressive assets with her own. At Fara's shrug, said Cerinian hooked her fingers through her belt, pulled it halfway off, and then stopped. "You… don't mind, do you?"

Poor Fara's cheeks caught fire. "No, no!" she stammered, "Uh… no, not at all." The fennec turned around in hopes of avoiding further embarrassment. Much to her delight, she came face to face with the most interesting bulkhead she'd ever seen. Fara studied its regulation grey surface with the intensity of a great scientist. How had they managed to paint it so smoothly? _Oh, who am I kidding? We're all adults here._

Fara turned back around as Krystal was pulling up a pair of black jumpsuit pants, identical to most of the crew's attire she had seen last night. The only notable feature was the nametag embroidered with "Zonoc K." sewn above her right rear pocket. Krystal reached back down into her drawer, removed a black tee-shirt, and pulled it down over her head. The right side of her chest played resident to a small rendition of the ship and team's twin-tailed fox emblem, though it was white instead of red. Fara took in the shirt's back side while Krystal made sure it was properly tucked. A large white side profile of the _Great Fox_ proudly sat dead center. Above it was printed "C.S.S. Great Fox" in block letters; below it, "Sic Semper Tyrannis" in matching font. Fara repeated the second line aloud, prompting Krystal to turn her head.

"Ship's motto," she explained, "'Thus Always to Tyrants.' It's Ancient Cornerian." She cinched up her black, gold-buckled belt. Krystal then retrieved one of her (also black) jumpers and pulled it on around her shoulders. As Fara had seen with everyone else, her nametag was sewn above her left breast pocket. The writing was gold on both tags, a detail Fara had only seen on the officers' uniforms; the enlisted crew's names were silver. _Well, I guess every branch has something weird._ She'd also seen different circular patches at the top of everyone's left sleeve. Krystal's was grey with a set of black crosshairs in the middle and the word "Combat" along the bottom. _Departments, maybe?_ A black, gold-bordered patch was sewn flush above it, "Tactical Action Officer" written in the same golden shade. Fara had no idea what a "Tactical Action Officer" was, but it sounded cool. _Really? That's all I've got?_ Thankfully, the Star Fox emblem and accompanying "Primary Operator" below the hot mess on her shoulder were easy enough to decipher: she was one of the Star Fox team's main operators.

The CDF pilot felt cheated when a shower of confetti failed to celebrate her discovery.

To add the final touch to her uniform, Krystal plucked her rank pins out of a small box in her drawer and fastened them to her stiff, upturned collar. Each held three silver officer's bars in a line, denoting the rank of Staff Lieutenant - the fifth rung on the Navy's officer ladder.

Fara looked up at Krystal's voice. "I'd love to show you around. Really, I would. But, my department has to be ready when we get underway." There was a _snap_ as the vixen secured her shipboard wristcom to her arm. It was more thin and sleek than her other one, and its color matched her uniform. "Head to the bridge. Fox told me he'd give you a tour," she said as she inserted her earpiece and synced her comm up with the ship.

Fara was surprised to say the least. "Doesn't he have more important things to do? This isn't just some corvette, he's running a _battleship_."

Apparently Krystal found that point ridiculous. "It's no trouble, really. He insisted. Good luck!"

The fennec didn't realize Krystal was leaving until she was already out the door and walking down the hall. Fara had time to take a breath and open her mouth before Krystal uttered half a sentence into her mic and disappeared around a corner. The pilot reached out helplessly in her direction, hoping she could will the Cerinian back into view with sheer force of mind… and yes, she was fully aware of the irony in that, thank you very much. When that effort failed, she let her arm fall back to her side.

 _Get to the bridge. Right._ The truth of a previous statement chose that moment to hit her. This was indeed _not_ "just some corvette." This was a full-sized battleship, and she didn't have a map.

"Damn it."

000

Twenty minutes later, Fara was approaching the bridge with a kind-hearted crewman whom, God bless him, had asked if she was lost.

"Well," the young husky swept his arm in a mock grandiose gesture, "Here we are."

"Thanks again." Fara offered her hand, which he promptly shook. She had been surprised at the crew's hospitality. She hadn't expected them to be _assholes_ or anything like that, but military personnel were just more cold shoulder-y. If that was a word. Either way, the _Great Fox_ 's crew was a welcome change of pace, and she'd enjoy it while she could.

The husky nodded. "No problem. It's Phoenix, right?"

Fara's brow rose. "Fara Phoenix, yeah. How did you…"

The crewman shrugged. "Word travels fast on ships. Alright… Listen, I've got to get back to it, but I'll see you around."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," she said as he passed her and walked away. _I'll see you around._ She turned on a heel. "Wait, I'm not…" He was gone. "...staying." _Ugh, do these spacers crawl in and out of the woodwork?_

"Good morning, Miss Phoenix." _God DAMN it!_ Fara all but tripped over her own feet spinning around to face the ship's commanding officer.

"Good-good morning, sir… I mean, McCloud… er, Commander…" She cut herself off with an exasperated sigh and covered her face in her hands. Maybe if she focused really, really hard, he would disappear. The fennec parted two of her fingers, allowing her to see the amused look he was giving her… and the two steaming white mugs in his paws, each stamped with the Star Fox logo. _God save me. Is that coffee?_

He extended the mug in his off hand. "Drink." Fara's hands shot out like a blur, and the mug was at her lips in the time it took Fox to blink. The fennec's Adam's apple bobbed up and down with each gulp, and she made almost sexual noises of pure bliss as the scalding hot liquid burned down her throat. Some people may have found the whole thing disturbing, but Fox merely chuckled. Caffeine and the military were inseparable; it must have been in the contract somewhere.

Fox raised an eyebrow. "Better?" he asked with a lopsided grin. Fara nodded, now seeing the world through a different, not so dead-ass tired lens.

"Oh, yeah. Right as rain." The fennec figured this was as good a time as any to start asking questions. "So, this tour. It's really no trouble? I mean, you've got to have other things to do."

Fox shook his head. "Nah. I like to check all the departments myself before we undock, anyway."

Fara hummed. "Well in that case, alright. What's the first stop?"

"Breakfast." Fara cracked a smile. Maybe she could get used to this.

000

 **30 Minutes Later...**

"I'm jealous," Fara declared as she set her tray in the stack on top of Fox's.

"What about?" asked Fox, that perpetual grin on his face as he opened the hatch leading out of the mess. He had insisted she eat with him and the rest of the officers. She'd felt like a sore thumb at first, but once again, no one gave her any reason to feel unwelcome.

"The Navy has the best cooks in the service. We get stuck with preservative-laced fast food and MREs."

"Those are the same thing."

Fara laughed. "Ain't that the truth? You know, I hear the Marines only have good food because they steal your chefs."

"And we're damned proud of it!" called out an avian wearing grey fatigues as he passed them in the other direction.

The vulpine rolled his eyes. "Right. Anyway, here's the order of things. We're checking on Combat first. After that, we'll head down into Engineering and Flight, and then it's back up to Medical. We'll round it out with Security and Damage Control. Sound good, Phoenix?"

Fara shrugged. "You're the boss. But… if it's all the same to you, call me Fara."

His reply was instant. "Only if you drop the 'sir' and 'Commander' stuff." Fara found herself smiling as she followed him. Had she passed some sort of test?

The fennec jogged a few steps to catch up with the taller vulpine. "So, McCloud, then?"

"Sure. That's fine for now."

Something occurred to Fara as a half-dozen crewmembers shifted apart in front of them. "I've been thinking…" she began.

"That's dangerous," interjected Fox.

Fara managed not to shoot him a glare, stepping through the small crowd as she continued. "When we were airborne, you and Zonoc didn't have your flight suits. How did you, y'know, survive?"

He stopped in his tracks at that. Fara hadn't been expecting it and had to backpedal a few feet. "That's… classified. I'm sorry." _Cryptic._ That response was commonplace in the military, but hearing it from Fox was about as expected as Andross becoming a pacifist and preaching gun control. Even so, the words sounded like they caused him physical pain.

There were no hard feelings either way. "Can't tell me everything, I guess. How about the crew? Population, I mean. I may not be Navy, but it seems like there'd be more people running a straight-up battleship." She looked up at a set of pipes that had caught her eye. They were shiny and new, but seemed out of place. Now that she thought about it, Fara had noticed several panels, fittings, pipes and other bits and pieces throughout the morning that all screamed _retrofits_. "And what's with those pipes? Colors don't match the others I've seen. And that's nothing compared to half the stuff I saw on Deck Four."

If her first question had stopped him, _that_ had plowed into him like an oil tanker. His tone was hesitant when he finally spoke. "Are you with Intelligence or something?"

Fara smiled nervously. "No…?"

"It's just… you're very perceptive. I'm impressed." Fara didn't know whether to squirm or beam under his new gaze. "We _do_ have a smaller crew than normal. Less people to keep track of, less middlemen, less redundancy… more efficiency. The tradeoff is that most people have more responsibilities than they did before, so everyone brings their A game, every day. Look at my primary team: they're all department heads too."

Fara's eyes widened. "My God, do you people _sleep_?"

"Only with written permission!" he shot back with a raised finger and toothy smile. They both laughed at that. Fara looked ahead again as her guide opened a hatch and gestured inside. "Welcome to Combat."

Whereas the corridor was brightly lit, this room was cast in a moody blue glow. Rows of monitors, displays, readouts, blinking buttons and lights filled three of the walls, all attended to by crewmembers wearing headsets in tethered swivel chairs. The far wall displayed topographical data, with a large white blip (she presumed it to represent _Great Fox_ itself) at the center. She could see the cross pattern of the Orbital Dock, outlines of dozens of ships - each with an accompanying information tag - moving about, and even the edge of the Meteo belt. The inner part of the room housed transparent glass panes displaying all kinds of data in holographic form. A handful of crewmembers were gathered around each pane, gesturing to each other and pointing at whatever seemed to be of importance. The quiet hum of computers and faint tones of the displays could all be heard in the background. The background noise, coupled with the lowered all-business tones of conversing crew, made Fara tread lightly. She felt like she was in church. Ship church. No, Navy ship church. _Yeah, that's it._

Fara didn't notice she'd stopped in the doorway until Fox beckoned her inside. "Captain," a crewman quietly acknowledged the vulpine as Fara caught up with him. The others reacted in similar manners when he neared them: a word here, a respectful nod there. It was not lost on the fennec that technically, everyone should have come to attention the instant he crossed through the hatch. Fara trailed behind him like a high school shadow until he reached the most unique person in the room. Krystal was busy speaking to someone else, so Fox stood back and let them finish.

Krystal took a half-step closer to the bobcat next to her and pointed at a few things on his datapad. "Bleed some power on the starboard and portside lasers, and shift the reserves to aft deflectors. We should only be taking out small craft in the Belt, and we'd all be worse for wear if an asteroid careens into our engines."

"Yes, ma'am." The bobcat nodded and returned to his station.

The sapphire vixen turned around to face the merry duo. "Sorry about that. We were in the middle of some calibrations."

Fara's guide flashed a smile. "No, you're fine. How are things in your grand domain?"

Krystal's voice dropped to a solemn tone. "I assume you've heard about Petty Officer Bartowski?"

Fox nodded. "Yes; he was ashore when Corneria got hit. Local fire department found him in his collapsed apartment building. I've notified his family, and I'm giving him a posthumous Service Excellence Star."

"He certainly deserves it. Maleev and Farnsworth are covering his duties until we can… find someone else." It appeared 'replacement' was a four-letter word around here. _In a unit like this, I'm not surprised._ Fara very much appreciated that kind of attitude.

"That's good. Keep an eye on them for me, alright? Let me know if anything comes up." Krystal only nodded in response.

A few silent seconds later, she picked her voice back up. "Well, aside from that? We're charged, locked, and ready to kick some arse. Just give me targets."

"Glad to hear it. Keep up the good work." Fox looked at Fara, and Krystal began speaking to _her_ \- almost as if on cue.

"This is the Combat Information Center - the CIC. The _Great Fox_ may be driven from the bridge, but her weapons are fired from here. They tell us where to shoot; we turn the guns and pull the triggers. Like the bridge, we have full sensor, radar, celestial and astrological readouts. And we might not ever see the sun down here, but we pilot the ship's UAV (Unmanned Aerial Vehicle) drones from that display, there." She pointed to the wall currently showing the radar. "To top it off, we can even override power distribution if Engineering goes offline." Krystal proudly set her paws on her hips. "In a nutshell, my people can do just about anything except move the ship. And as the _tee-ay-oh_ ; Tactical Action Officer, it's my job to keep it all together."

Fara took a moment to absorb everything. When she did, a devilish grin crossed her muzzle. "So if I wanted you to put a shell through my ex-boyfriend's garage?"

Krystal's eyes narrowed and she started lowkey reaching for her datapad. "Latitude and longitude?"

Fox cleared his throat. "Oh-ho-kay, I think that's enough of that."

"Sorry," she mumbled, paw falling back to her side.

The commander continued as though the past ten seconds had never existed. "So, you're all good to go down here?"

Krystal took a final glance at her datapad. "The shipyard's crew just finished loading the last missile rack, so yes; we're green across the board."

"I'll let you get back to it, then." Fox leaned down and whispered something in Krystal's ear. She nodded and whispered something back. The vulpine stood and looked at Fara as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "Let's go."

On their way down to Engineering, Fox answered her previous question about the mismatched bits around the ship. The _Great Fox_ was technically an old ship, but her crew kept everything in tip-top shape. They in turn demanded quite a lot out of her. Fara had a feeling this particular _Halcion_ -class battleship had been retrofitted, but she'd struggled to pick her jaw up off the floor when Fox revealed it had "had enough transplants to drain an organ bank."

"And this is Engineering." Fox had to raise his voice over the din. Compared to the CIC, this place sounded like a machine shop. Most of the crew down here sported protective equipment: hard hats, safety glasses, earplugs and more. All wore thicker navy-blue jumpsuits instead of the other crew's thin black. Their uniforms bore obvious signs of wear and tear, from scuff marks to grease stains and everything in between.

Fara had pinned her ears down and was busy clutching her temples. Being a fennec, she didn't handle extremely loud noises well. "Any chance I could wait in the car?" she snarked through clenched teeth.

Fox winced. "Right, sorry. Forgot about the ears. Wait here." He jogged off, presumably in search of the department head. The vulpine returned a good minute later with a short amphibian in tow.

Sensing a pattern, Fara extended her hand. "Fara Phoenix."

The frog shook it. "Lieutenant Slippy Toad, Chief Engineer and Flight Officer."

"You run Engineering _and_ Flight?"

"Yep! Now, I already told Fox we're set to go down here. And that's great, 'cause it means I've got time to show you something!"

Fara blinked. "Me?"

"You're the one I'm lookin' at. C'mon!" Just like that, he was off, waddling with a purpose. Fara looked up at Fox beside her, an unspoken question on her lips.

"We all just try to keep up," he muttered.

Slippy eventually halted the trio before a hatch with "HANGAR" stamped above it. "We've got just one question for ya."

Fara crossed her arms. "Yeah? What's that?"

Slippy reached behind himself, opened the hatch and gestured towards the interior. Fox turned towards her, a wide grin on his face. "Ever flown a Stinger before?"

 _Oh my God. This can't be real!_ Fara bolted through the hatch, sprinting past (and nearly flattening) a doberman who wasn't paying attention. And then she saw it. Sitting in the middle of the hangar bay, like a gift from God, was a brand-new AL4 Stinger interceptor, its steel-grey and green paint job gleaming in the artificial light. One of the flight techs was just finishing up painting "PHOENIX F." in black on the side of the nose. The fuselage itself vaguely resembled a bullet, and the wings were thin and swept back. Its single powerful engine dominated the aft section. The interceptor's blacked out canopy concealed remarkably simple controls for a craft of such advanced technology. The six-barreled Mk III Rapid Laser Cannon housed in its nose could decimate enemy small craft, and the dozen Short Range Attack Missiles stored in the fuselage would feed out beneath the wings to unleash hell on whatever dared to _really_ piss her off.

"You're beautiful," sang Fara dreamily, star-eyed with love.

"Thanks…?" answered Slippy.

"I was talking to the plane," she deadpanned. Fox, not breaking eye contact with the Stinger himself, raised a hand up and patted Slippy on the shoulder.

" _Captain?"_ Fox jumped at Peppy's voice in his earpiece and tapped his wristcom.

"Go ahead."

" _I've got a… Lieutenant-Commander Smith requesting permission to land his shuttle. He says he's an envoy for the Admiralty, and the records check out."_

"Clear him for landing. I'm in the hangar right now; I'll greet him myself. Out." Fox touched a few buttons on his wristcom, switching to the hangar's announcement system. "Hangar personnel, clear Pad Three. We have an inbound shuttle. Say again, shuttle inbound for Pad Three. That is all."

Ninety seconds later, the boxy frame of a Cornerian Federation Navy shuttle decelerated, cleared the atmospheric shield, and settled down on the pad in question. There was a hiss as pressures equalized before the ramp lowered, revealing a tiger in full dress blues (which were actually black). His polished dress shoes clicked against the metal ramp as he descended, and he saluted Fox when he reached the bottom.

"Lieutenant-Commander Smith, NAVCOM (Naval Command) envoy, requesting permission to come aboard."

Fox delivered a return salute. "Permission granted. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Nothing that will take too long, sir, but I suggest we discuss it in private."

Fox nodded. "The conference room, then."

 _Guess we're not visiting Medical and Security._

000

Fox held the conference room door open for Smith, Peppy and Fara - the last one still not understanding her business at a meeting between senior officers. After exchanging formalities, Smith produced a large black disk from his uniform, fiddled with a few buttons on it, and placed it on the floor. Soft whirring occupied the room for a few seconds, and then a hologram sprang to life. When the image stabilized, it revealed Vice Admiral Shapira.

Upon seeing _three_ gold stars on the hologram's collar, Fara's throat ran dry and she tried to hide in a corner. Doomsday scenarios flipped through her head like a comic book from Hell until she realized Fox was being promoted for his actions on Corneria. When all was said and done, the silver oak leaves on his collar had sprouted twins, making him a Staff Commander - just one rank short of a full Captain.

"And now it's your turn."

Fara's ears perked up at Fox's voice. "I… what?" Everyone was looking at her, Admiral Shapira included. The conference room door opened amid her confusion. Krystal, Miyu, Slippy and Falco all filed in and lined up on Admiral Shapira's flanks. Everyone in the line, as well as Peppy beside Fox, took up a crisp parade rest stance, hands clasped firmly at the small of their backs and feet a shoulder width apart.

The vulpine's face turned solid, and his tone changed to match. Somehow, just hearing him speak this way inspired the young fennec to move from her corner spot. "I've had time to think," Fox explained as the fennec walked towards him, "I've seen you in combat, and you were more than impressive. After you were shot down - taking on an aircraft carrier in a fighter, might I add - you took the initiative and hunted down your own rescue boat. After _that_ , you took up the mantle of a crisis responder, even though you had no formal training for it. Through it all, you've shown remarkable skill, steeled determination, undeniable courage, indomitable strength and rare ingenuity."

The vulpine reached down and pulled a small black box out of the side pocket in his pants. Fara immediately recognized it as a case for medals, awards, rank pins and the like. "Sometimes we find greatness. Sometimes it finds us. And sometimes… we find each other."

He flipped the lid, revealing a gold, red-ribboned medal, proudly stamped with a bright crimson Star Fox emblem. _Oh my God. Oh my God._ "If there was a shred of doubt in my mind, we would not be having this conversation. There isn't: you have what it takes." The vulpine rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll be honest: Fort Willis was ready for you last night. Lieutenant Bradford has been down there since then, helping me stall them to give you this chance." _This isn't real. Somebody pinch me!_ Fara was speechless. Her squadron leader had done this for her? McCloud looked at Shapira, and she nodded to him. Fox continued speaking. "We only need your signature for the paperwork to clear. If you accept, you will be stepping into a whole new life. You will be officially transferred to _Great Fox_ \- my supply officer is standing by to have your personal effects brought aboard from Fort Willis. As your new commanding officer, you would report directly to me. You will fly with us on the most dangerous assignments of the war; _you_ will be the tip of the spear. As part of this unit, you will have full access to top-of-the-line weapons, equipment, and gear. That includes your own Arwing, custom built right down to the airframe and stitching in the seat. You will be able to put in requisition orders for anything and everything you need, whether it's as complex as a custom-fitted exosuit or as simple as a toothbrush. Finally, you will become a spacer of the Federation Navy and be granted an officer's commission to the rank of Ensign."

The ship's captain looked toward his command staff before picking his speech back up. "But most of all? You will stand alongside the brightest, bravest, and most loyal crew with whom I have ever had the pleasure to serve." Fox once again turned his head back to Fara, whose eyes were now wide as dinner plates. "I know this is a lot to take in. If you don't want this, there's the door. There will be no hard feelings; I will simply be honored to have flown with you while I could." Fara had to stifle a gasp at hearing that from such a decorated soldier. "But life gives no second chances. So I ask you, right here, right now: yes or no?"

The dumbstruck fennec was silent for a full thirty seconds. When she caught up with reality, her answer was clear: she wouldn't have it any other way.

Fox came to attention like flipping a switch. "Detail… atten _tion!_ " Everyone, even Shapira, brought their heels together with a stomp and straightened up, fists at their sides. "Raise your right hand." Both foxes simultaneously lifted their right paws.

He fixed Fara with the most piercing gaze she'd seen in recent memory. "Repeat after me. I, state your name, do solemnly swear..."

Despite the other fox's intimidating eyes, Fara stayed cool and collected. "I, Fara Phoenix, do solemnly swear…"

"...to support and defend the Constitution of the Cornerian Federation."

She replied, "...to support and defend the Constitution of the Cornerian Federation."

"I am a Federation Navy spacer…"

"I am a Federation Navy spacer…" she recited as the weight of it all started crashing down on her.

"...and I will obey the orders of those officers appointed over me, in accordance with the Code of Military Justice."

"...and I will obey the orders of those officers appointed over me, in accordance with the Code of Military Justice."

Fox gained a bit of volume as he spoke the next lines. "I represent the fighting spirit of the Navy…"

"I… I represent the fighting spirit of the Navy…" Why was her voice shaking? And what the hell was stuck in her eye?

If Fox noticed, he didn't say anything. "...and those who have gone before me to defend freedom and democracy across the Lylat System."

"...and those who have gone before me to defend freedom and democracy across the Lylat System." _You are_ _ **not**_ _going to cry right now! It's allergies; it's got to be allergies._

"I will always place the mission first."

Fara lent steel to her voice. "I will _always_ place the mission first."

Fox gave the barest hint of a smile. "I will never accept defeat."

Now those were some words she could get behind. "I will never accept defeat."

"I will never leave a fallen comrade."

This line was sacred, so Fara poured her heart and soul into her delivery. Also, it was all she could do not to come apart at the seams because _this is really happening!_ "I will never leave a fallen comrade."

"I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy Corneria's enemies."

 _ **Definitely**_ _words I can get behind._ "I stand ready to deploy, engage and destroy Corneria's enemies."

"I proudly serve this Federation with Honor, Courage, and Commitment."

She was crying again. "I proudly serve this Federation with Honor, Courage, and Commitment."

"I am a Federation Navy spacer!"

Fara had to all but choke out the closing line around the knot in her throat. "I am a Federation Navy spacer!" They both lowered their arms as she finished out the Spacer's Creed.

Eyes locked straight ahead, Fox bellowed, "Detail! Present… _arms!_ " At his command, he and the officers brought up their right arms in textbook salutes. "Sound off!"

The deck seemed to quake with their booming reply. "STAR FOX! SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!"

"Order… arms!" The assembled officers dropped their salutes as quickly as they had raised them. "Fara Phoenix, step forward." Fara shook herself out of her trance and closed the distance between them. Fox held out the smooth black case in his left hand. "It is my highest honor to present you with this unit's crest. As of this moment, you are one of us."

"Welcome to my crew." Fara's own left paw was shaking as she placed it on top of the case.

"Welcome to my family." McCloud released the case into Fara's grip. She held it like the most precious thing in all of Lylat.

Fox's posture relaxed and his expression warmed. He extended his right paw for a handshake. "Welcome to Star Fox."

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Hey, look at that, nobody died in this chapter! What's up with that? Alright, but in all seriousness, I am _so_ sorry for being away this long. College, military aspirations, and life in general have been giving me a back alley beatdown. Even more cruel is the fact that I wrote this entire chapter, start to finish, in less than a week. I guess losing my laptop _with all files_ lit a fire under my ass. I will try my absolute hardest to crack down on updating my active fics in the future. Next time, we'll be heading into Meteo.

P.S. Sorry if formatting is a little weird on this one. I pounded the whole thing out on Google Docs… on my iPad.

Cheers!

 _SergeantLawson_

 **Review Feedback:** Thank you all for your reviews. It really brings a smile to my face knowing people enjoy the content I put out. Good ol' FurFur's been keeping my militaristic drabble in check - much appreciated, buddy. Atlas - Bryyo: how does my descriptive detail in this chapter compare to previous entries? You seem to have a keen eye for that sort of thing, and your comment on c5 about me "getting too wordy" did not fall on deaf ears.

 **Trivia**

"Sic Semper Tyrannis" is Latin for "Thus always to tyrants." The quote is paraphrased from what a Roman statesman said in the moments before Julius Caesar was stabbed to death.

Unites States Army and Navy servicemen and women should each have recognized about half of the Spacer's Creed. I pulled lines from the Soldier's Creed and Sailor's Creed, shuffled them into each other and made appropriate edits to put it together. Looking back, it's hilarious in some twisted way that _that_ was the most difficult part of this chapter to write.

 **CODEX**

 _*Though their weapons may be different, I take a lot of ship and small craft design inspiration from Star Fox: Event Horizon. Again, weapons are different, but for the most part the ships look like their in-game counterparts. Hit the site up for pictures of all four current Arwings (X-03, Skyclaw, Interceptor and CloudRunner), the AL5 Bottlenose fighter, AL4 Stinger interceptor (though it's called "AL4 Bottlenose" there), JMU-05 gunship, all three Invader-class fighters, and of course, the Great Fox. I will put other such craft here, at the end of the chapters where they make their first appearances._

 **Combat Information Center (CIC):** If the bridge is a warship's heart, then the CIC is its brain. Creative liberties were taken concerning what most CICs are _actually_ capable of (controlling power flow, for example), but the Combat department still controls all the teeth. Other relevant information was explained in chapter text.

 **Tactical Action Officer (TAO):** Pronounced _tee-ay-oh_. The TAO is the head of a warship's Combat department, and he or she oversees all relevant operations and personnel. In short, the TAO "fights the ship" under the Captain.

 **AL4 Stinger:** The AL4 Stinger is based off the previous generation of the Bottlenose platform, upgraded and retrofitted for an interceptor role. This craft is employed by both the Cornerian Federation and Katina Colonial Republic. The Stinger is arguably the fastest interceptor in the Lylat System, a claim that one Junior Lieutenant Miyu Lynx has quietly allowed to slide. However, that speed comes at the price of significant armor plating, though this has only encouraged pilots to be even more daring in their maneuvers. The Stinger is armed with a six-barreled Mk III Rapid Laser Cannon in the nose and twelve Short Range Attack Missiles, or SRAMs, for when things get dirty. Although the Fichina Securities Union prefers its own X-12 W.A.S.P. fighter, the PMC still purchases and fields the AL4 Stinger in limited numbers.

 _*No, I don't expect you poor civvies to memorize anything below this line. I'll have that much mercy on your souls, at least._

 **CFN Officer Ranks:** O-1: Ensign (ENS), single gold bar. O-2: Junior Lieutenant (JLT), single silver bar. O-3: Lieutenant (LT), dual silver bars. O-4: Staff Lieutenant (SLT), triple silver bars. O-5: Lieutenant-Commander (LCDR), single gold oak leaf. O-6: Commander (CDR), single silver oak leaf. O-7: Staff Commander (SCDR), dual silver oak leaves. O-8: Captain (CPT), single silver star.

 **CFN Command Ranks:** C-1: Commodore (CMD), dual silver stars. C-2: Rear Admiral (RADM), one gold star. C-3: Squadron Vice Admiral (SVADM), two gold stars. C-4: Vice Admiral (VADM), three gold stars. C-5: Admiral (ADM), four gold stars. C-6: Fleet Admiral (FADM), five gold stars.


	7. Sweep and Clear (Meteo)

Chapter 7: Sweep and Clear (Meteo)

There had been little time to celebrate Fara's induction. Congratulations were exchanged, but it was back to the grind after Lieutenant-Commander Smith's departure. Fara remembered the admiral - Shapira, she thought - lobbing out a comment about Smith "having her in the palm of his hand" before her hologram disappeared. _Could've been my imagination. I was still shellshocked._

Fox's voice pulled her back to the real world. "Let's go over the order of things." Fara looked to her right at the vulpine. He was standing at the head of the glass conference table, leaning into his hands that rested on its hickory brim. Fara, Krystal, Falco, Miyu, Peppy and Slippy all sat around the table in stuffed black chairs, the first three on the left side and the others on the right. The rectangular table's long sides curved outwards, like an oval, while its head and foot were straight-edged. An eight-point holographic projection network housed beneath the glass surface displayed a three-dimensional image of the Meteo belt at eye level.

"CDF and Navy assets are sweeping the entire Belt for remaining hostile forces. We're lending a hand with the Kepler Zone, _here_." Fox pushed out of his lean and picked up a datapad sitting on the table. He poked at a few spots on the pad, and the hologram zoomed in on the sector in question.

"Why Kepler?" asked Miyu, gesturing towards the display. She sat to Fox's right, in the seat furthest away from him. The lynx's left elbow was propped on the table, her chin tucked between two knuckles.

Fox answered, "It's right over where we took down that carrier. The Old Man thinks it's the most likely place for the survivors to run, and he wants us there if our people run into trouble. Speaking of our people…"

Orange-furred hands played across the datapad's surface, and the tabletop hologram was replaced with a Cornerian corvette. Below it appeared the words "C.S.S. Rittenback." The ship's array of small engines protruded from its stern, and its aft portion as a whole looked like a box. This squared, angular design continued throughout the ship, though its dimensions gradually shrunk from midships toward the bow. It _would_ have looked something like an arrowhead, if not for one major detail. The bow looked like someone had glued a massive cylinder sideways onto the front end. Its cylindric bow seemed to overshadow the rest of the design; it was even wider than the ship itself.

Fara raised a finger, "Sorry, but what is _that_?" She leveled said finger at the ship's ugly front bumper from her spot at the middle of the table's left side.

Next to her and closest to Fox, Krystal supplied an answer. "That's a _Numbani_ -class corvette; part of a larger initiative to light a fire under military development, and by extension, the economy. That lovely bow design actually holds the most precise scanning equipment ever mounted on a ship… as well as some kind of new ECM system; isn't that right, Fox?"

Her counterpart nodded. "Yeah, that's about the gist of it. Those scanners are why the _Rittenback_ here will be joining us in the Belt."

Fara's eyes widened. "A warship, _in_ the Belt?"

Peppy cleared his throat from the middle of the right side. "It's a risky move, alright, but corvettes are the smallest warships we got. Her sensors are good but they ain't perfect, 'specially when you got asteroids smacking into each other all around ya. They'll need to get her in close to pick up any 'Nomies hanging around."

Falco leaned back in his chair, crossing his wings at his chest. "So what's the deal, Foxie? You expect us to blast space rocks outta their way so they don't end up playing pinball with asteroids?"

Fox turned on him, his tone dead serious. "No, I don't - and that's another thing. Everybody watch your fire out there. I mean it; one stray missile could send an asteroid right into a friendly."

The avian raised his wings. "Alright, Foxie. I got ya."

Fox exhaled. "Okay. As I was saying, the _Rittenback_ is going into the Belt. Normally you'd be right, Falco; there would be nowhere near enough room. Here's where things get weird." He fiddled with his datapad and the hologram shifted back to Meteo. The difference was, there were a lot less asteroids. The Kepler Zone didn't look barren by any means; however, there was more breathing room than normal, especially for an asteroid field as tightly packed as Meteo.

Miyu hummed. "Well, that's new. Any idea what happened?"

Fox shook his head. "I'm not sure, but General Pepper thinks they're trying to cut through Meteo. I know it sounds ridiculous; punching a hole clean through the field would take months at best."

Krystal furrowed her brow, shaking her head in turn - though this time her tone was more somber. "No. They wouldn't have to."

Falco cocked his head. "What're you thinking, Blue?"

Krystal rolled her chair back and stood. She tucked a thumb under her chin and rested her elbow on her left arm, pacing as she spoke to keep her train of thought in motion. "They wouldn't have to dig clear through the Belt. Meteo has always served as a natural defensive line for Corneria. To some extent, the CDF has come to rely on it: most of our Orbital Defense Platforms are concentrated where Meteo is at its thinnest. So, what do the Venomians do? They exploit our most severe weakness; the one part of our security network that cannot be rebuilt."

Fox passed his datapad into Krystal's open paw. She touched a button and the asteroids snapped back to match the original image. Everyone - even Falco - was rapt as the Cerinian continued. "The Kepler Zone is one of the thickest in the Belt, so there are only a handful of orbital platforms between it and the surface. We've already established wiping out an entire corridor is possible but unrealistic; not to mention time-consuming. CDF patrols would pick up their scent before they would even be a fraction of the way through." She took a breath. "Their problem has two solutions… and they have elected to take the path of least resistance."

Krystal dragged her finger along the bottom edge of the datapad's screen. One by one, asteroids winked out of existence; smaller ones disappeared, while larger ones were fragmented before suffering the same fate.

"They strategically pinprick the Kepler Zone, destroying just enough to create a viable path, but still leaving enough intact to keep us blind." There was now enough space for Krystal to draw three red arrows, each representing a nearly invisible path right to Corneria's backdoor. Their tactics had worked: _one_ ship; an aircraft carrier for God's sake; had slipped by a planetary defense grid like a killer in the night.

"Oh my God," whispered Miyu, horror evident on her face, "That's how they hit Corneria."

"But… how?" pondered Fox, still reeling himself, "How could they do this so fast?"

Krystal pursed her lips. "That, I'm not sure of. Mining vessels and ore diggers could do the job quickly enough, but 'could' and 'enough' are insufficient for the Venomians. An undertaking of this scale would have required far more of those vessels than what could hope to stay undetected. No, there's something else." The vixen was silent for a moment as she pondered her own question. "I suspect they've created something specifically for this. Dedicated 'rock crushers,' if you will. A small number of these; maybe even one, if they are truly bold; could be responsible for what they have accomplished."

Falco held up a wing in question. "Blue, you're onto something here, but 'rock crushers?' Are you hearing yourself?"

Fox, too, seemed skeptical about the last point. "Krystal… are you sure about this?"

Miyu spoke up, "I'm with her, boss. We all know how far out there the 'Nomies are with designs. Just look at the carrier we took down; that thing was so ugly it could've been a modern art masterpiece."

Fox's expression changed to one of serious contemplation. "Are you sure about this?" he asked again, slower this time. Silence enveloped the conference room, seconds ticking by while the sapphire vixen mentally checked every last detail.

Krystal gave a firm nod. "Absolutely."

Her tone of dead certainty sent Fox into action. A minute later, the LED monitor on the far wall sprang to life with the face of _CSS Matterhorn_ 's comms officer. Another thirty seconds, and the lioness was replaced by Rear Admiral Dawson; a jet black crow with piercing eyes who filled out his dress blues like a recruiting poster.

Dawson spoke in a deep baritone. "Staff Commander McCloud, is there something you need? My comms officer said the matter is urgent."

Fox nodded, falling back into strict professionalism. "Yes, sir. Lieutenant?"

Krystal proceeded to recount her analysis, red arrows and all. Her speech was more concise this time around, thanks to having time to organize her thoughts. Dawson observed the whole thing with the precision of a laser.

"I'll be damned…" he said under his breath once Krystal had finished. "I'll send this up the chain; Vice Admiral Shapira arrived early this morning."

Fox was confused. "Sir, I thought the Fifth Fleet was in Sector Y?"

Dawson nodded. "They are. The Vice Admiral was recalled to Corneria last night, for transfer to her new flagship. They should be undocking shortly." The avian cleared his throat. "But I digress. Consider the timetable moved up. I'm transferring two flights to the Kepler Zone; they are under your command for the duration of this mission. Guard the _Rittenback_ on its way in. The instant the Venomians show their faces, hunt them down. Find whatever is destroying my asteroid belt, and when you do, obliterate it."

Fox straightened up. "Aye, aye, sir."

Dawson shifted towards Krystal. "And, Lieutenant? _Good catch._ " The LED monitor blacked out.

Fox looked around the room. "Any questions?" There were none. "Alright. Everyone suit up and settle in. We launch in ten."

One by one, Star Fox's inner circle deserted the conference room until only he and Krystal were left.

"Fox?"

"Hm?" His face was buried in his datapad, busy powering down the holographic display. The blue vixen stood uneasily before him, biting her lower lip and wringing her hands together.

Her response was hesitant. She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Just… be careful."

And there was that cocky grin. "I'll be _fine_ , I promise." His grin fell when he looked up and saw how fidgety she was. Fox set down his datapad and stepped around the table. He fixed her with a concerned look as he closed the distance between them. "Krystal, what's wrong?"

"That's what you said _last time_ ," she snapped. Krystal wanted to lash out at his damned arrogance, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she reflected nothing but worry. "It's just… when we were fighting that carrier, and I saw you… there was just a _fireball_. I thought you were dead. I… I don't know what I would have done, if-"

"Hey." He put a hand on her shoulder and - without really knowing it - laced his other paw's fingers with her own. "I had Slippy go over my Arwing. He says there's nothing wrong with it. Do you trust him?" She swallowed and nodded. Fox smiled reassuringly. "You know me. I'll be okay." He squeezed her shoulder, hoping the gesture would convince her.

Krystal exhaled and hung her head down. "Okay…" she whispered. They stayed like that, enjoying each other's presence until Krystal noticed something.

"Fox?" Her voice was heavy with… mischief?

"Yeah?" he prompted, emerald eyes meeting aquamarine.

Krystal lifted up their intertwined paws. A sly smirk tugged at her lips. "You're holding my hand."

" _OH_ my g-" Fox let go and backpedaled like he was holding a grenade. His face turned bright scarlet, and Krystal wondered if his eyeballs would shoot out of his skull. "I-I-I mean, I was just… just trying to…"

Krystal folded her arms and watched the Cornerian language abandon the poor vulpine, self-satisfied smirk plastered on her face all the while. Only when he stopped did she show mercy and settle a finger against his muzzle.

"I'm convinced." Krystal sauntered over to the door, fully conscious of _exactly_ where his gaze had fallen to. "Well?" she beckoned, "Come on."

Fox shook himself out of his trance and followed her.

000

Fox gazed around at the expanse of stars and asteroids before him, his Arwing in pace with the _Rittenback_. The corvette's grey body occupied his starboard viewport, a few red and green running lights playing across its surface. To Fox's left was Solar, Lylat Prime's sibling in this binary star system. The vulpine's mirrored visor bocked out most of the sun's light, the solar glare reflecting white against his visor's black surface. His team maintained an arrowhead pattern off the corvette's port side. The only sounds in his world were a few soft beeps from various cockpit functions, as well as the _suck-click-hiss, suck-click-hiss_ of his oxygen mask. Like his teammates and the other Navy pilots around them, everyone wore masks, helmets and visors with their flight suits. Their Arwings' internalized atmospheres and G-Diffusers notwithstanding, ejecting into cold space without a personal oxygen supply would have been beyond foolish.

The vulpine looked to his right as he called out to the other pilots. "Kepler Group, this is Bullpup. Check in, over." His voice was filtered and slightly muffled through his mask, as was everyone else.

Falco was the first to reply. _"This is Skyclaw. Nothing's moving on my scopes."_

Krystal was next. _"This is Cloud Runner. All clear."_

Miyu came third. _"Zephyr, here. Clear as a bell, over."_

Fara banked right, slipping back into the arrowhead formation behind Falco. Lacking a call sign, she used her name instead. _"Phoenix, reporting in. I've got nothing."_

The first flight leader took his turn, reporting in from the _Rittenback_ 's other side. _"This is Tango One. All clear on the-"_

" _Tango One, Tango Three. Belay that. I've got a very sporadic contact, bearing zero-two-niner… whoa! I'm locked; I'm lock-"_

A large, blossoming explosion cut off the pilot's transmission. A few exclamations came over the radio as nearly a third of Tango Flight was wiped out. The blast swallowed half a dozen Bottlenose fighters, and the same number of white blips disappeared from Fox's display.

Fox growled. "Shit! Set perimeter; cover the _Rittenback_!"

" _Rittenback, Tango Eleven. Be advised, missiles inbound on your position!"_

Three small anti-ship missiles flew over a nearby asteroid and homed in on the corvette. Once they entered point defense range, the _Rittenback_ 's gunners fired. Each missile was speared by a bright ultraviolet beam, and all three were vaporized before they could impact.

" _Kepler Group, this is Rittenback. Bogeys padlocked; standby for NetSync."_ Fox's radar display cleared up like someone had flipped a switch. Individual asteroids were now clearly visible, as were several dozen red contacts. _"ODPs (Orbital Defense Platforms) are sending another flight for guard duty. Hunt 'em down, Kepler; we've got things covered here."_

Fox keyed his comm. "Solid copy, _Rittenback_. Kepler Group moving to engage."

" _This is Tango Flight. We'll clear the right path."_

" _Yankee Flight here; we'll take the center line."_

Miyu cracked her knuckles. "Guess that means we take the left." The lynx gunned her throttle, blasting off into the tightly-packed asteroid field. Star Fox's other four pilots lined up and followed her in.

000

"Scratch one!" Falco called as his target exploded.

Fara pulled up on his left and wiggled her wings. _"That's cute. Watch this."_ The fennec hit her afterburners and closed in on a pair of Invader Is. Pinned to her seat from the G-forces and grinning wildly beneath her mask, Fara pulled the trigger. Her Rapid Laser Cannon spun up and unleashed death, pulverizing the Venomian on the left. She rolled her craft through the Invader's glittering disintegrated remains (for style points), and then shunted herself to starboard, right behind Asshole Number Two. At least, that was what she called the enemy pilot. She fired.

And missed.

Emerald beams stabbed through open space, just above and to the left of their intended target. In the end, though, it made no difference. Seeing the angel of death behind him, the Venomian airman panicked. He rolled in the opposite direction, down and starboard - right in front of an asteroid. The primate screamed in horror for half a second, and then he and his fighter were flattened against the solid rock.

Fara spared a glance at the small explosion behind her. "That's a kill, right?"

Miyu zipped past her Stinger and fired a swarmer at a quartet of Venomian fighters. With five mini-warheads after each of them, there were no survivors. _"Ding, ding. Lights out."_

"Hey! That's cheating!"

" _Can't hear you over the sound of my - Fara, watch your right!"_

"Whoa!" Another four Invaders came out of nowhere. Fara pulled up, letting the momentum pin her to her seat again - fighting it was a bad idea. Crimson flashes of Venomian laser fire lit up her former position. Fox nailed the Invader at the back of the line with his hyper lasers, but the other three escaped and continued their pursuit. Fara's Stinger disappeared from their fields of vision when she went vertical and slipped behind an asteroid cluster.

Falco took stock of their surroundings. "Field's getting thicker, Fox. No room to pull a one-eighty."

Krystal grumbled in frustration. "No way up, either."

" _Don't worry about me; I'll catch up!"_

"You sure?" asked Fox.

" _Just go! I got this; there's only three of 'em!"_ An alarm all pilots dreaded broke across the comm. Its quick two-toned beat signified a missile lock. _"Ah, hell!"_ The audio line snapped closed.

"She said she'd catch up. Let's go." Fox nudged his throttle and pulled to the head of the formation. Off the comm, he muttered, "Nothing we can do anyway."

They moved on through the Meteo belt, picking off fighters and bombers as they reared their ugly heads. Hundreds of asteroids and dozens of Invaders later, the Cornerian corvette pinged their radios.

" _Star Fox, this is Rittenback. We're picking up a single large contact near the far side of the Kepler Zone. Scanners are unable to accurately read it through the Belt, but it looks as big as us."_

Fox activated his transmitter. "Understood, _Rittenback_. Mark a nav point; we'll check it out."

" _Copy, marking now. We don't know what it is. Advise caution, over."_

"We'll be careful. Star Fox out."

" _Rittenback out."_ A red delta faded into view on the pilots' visor HUDs, less than a kilometer away. The four pilots reoriented their formation and moved to intercept.

Miyu drifted closer to Fox. "You think Fara got that?"

"She'll get the nav point, if nothing else…" He trailed off upon realizing there was no ship at the provided coordinates.

Falco cleared his throat. "Uh, Fox? Did we get the right address?"

Fox pinged the corvette. " _Rittenback_ , there's nothing here." Unintelligible static was all that replied. " _Rittenback_ , do you copy?"

Painful crackles erupted through everyone's helmet speakers. A new voice made itself known over the comm. The accent was posh, the tone mocking, and the owner definitely not Cornerian. _"I cannot allow you to go any further."_

Their cockpits were cloaked in shadow as a strange ship passed over their heads. Its bulky frame rotated to face them with all the urgency of a turtle. There was really only one way to describe it: a big damned rock crusher.

"Well," Miyu commented, "That's new."

" _Oh, indeed. Pray tell, were you four truly responsible for Captain Blake's defeat?"_

An idea popped into Fox's head. The longer they kept this… interesting man talking, the closer reinforcements could get. "We were. Staff Commander Fox McCloud, Federation Navy."

" _Such a pleasure, Commander. My name is Barron Rudolph von Stöeben, Venomian Corps of Engineers."_ It took all of Miyu's self-control not to burst out laughing. Was this guy for real? _"Your battle against the Donnager was impressive, I must admit."_

Falco snorted. "Well, we don't like to brag, but-"

Fara's voice tore across the line. _"...but they had a little help from me!"_ Above and behind them, her Stinger screamed over the top of a nearby asteroid, a missile within spitting distance of her exhaust port. Fara jinked downwards and launched a set of flares. The heat seeking warhead veered off after one of the new thermal signatures and detonated harmlessly. Smelling blood in the water, her pursuers accelerated.

There were five of them. Fox ordered his team to stand down: this was her fight, and they would only be caught in the crossfire. _Five on one. No shields, no top-grade weapons._

Fara's speech was strained from a healthy mix of gravitational pressure and adrenaline. "It's like my Senior Prom all over again!" Two of the pilots fired missiles again, this time at close range. The other three took potshots with lasers. Fara glanced at her display to check their positions. When the lead fighter drew within a kilometer of her tail, the fennec made her move.

Fara cut her speed in half and yanked the stick back. She leveled her aircraft halfway through the loop, darting upside-down past the Venomians in the other direction. The last thing the enemy pilots expected was an Immelmann in an asteroid field, and it showed. Invaders couldn't hope to match a Stinger's maneuverability. The lead fighter tried, and got a faceful of rock for his trouble. The second flew straight on in the now-opposite direction of his target. The other three lined up and moved through a wider alternate route. They reacquired their target after she had righted her interceptor.

Fara laughed at the fighter she'd shaken off. "Keep running, buddy; you'll only die tired!" Lasers flashed past her canopy on both sides. "Hey! I'm trying to fly, here!"

In another unexpected move, Fara dipped beneath their crosshairs and hit her retros, curbing most of her velocity. The fennec let out an explosive _oof!_ at being jerked forward in her harness. Her brake check did the trick; all three Invaders flew over her head in a tightly grouped "V". Her interceptor pulled in behind the guy on the left. The pilots realized their mistake, but it was too late: a light-toned _bong_ sang to Fara's ears. Her visor tagged the left and center Invaders with "Target Locked."

"If you've got a God, I'd start praying." She rested her thumb over the angled red button protruding from the side of her stick, and squeezed. A pair of missiles left her wings, one after each fighter. Their craft lacking any sort of countermeasures, the Venomian pilots were powerless against their fiery deaths. Desperate to escape this demoness, Invader number three went full throttle between the asteroids.

"Oh, no you don't! _Get. Back. Here._ " The fennec gunned her throttle. She matched his every move and could have killed him a dozen times, but she held her fire. She wanted this man to _know_ he was going to die and couldn't to do anything about it.

Only when needles of crimson streaked past her did she stop toying with her prey. The final Invader had caught up with her. In one go, she ripped her target in half with her laser minigun, cut engines and kicked her Stinger into a double roll to portside. The killshot and evasive maneuver landed her just outside the asteroid belt. The last man standing swooped around to meet her head on.

"Come on; come to Mama!" Fara slammed her jet into full thrust, answering his challenge. The two fighters barreled towards each other full-speed in a deadly game of chicken. The Venomian opened fire when she entered weapons range. Fara steeled herself against the laser light show and kept on flying. At no more than two thousand meters, her counterpart faltered. It was for a mere second, but that was all the fennec needed.

She cut loose with her minigun, rolling left again at the same time. The two fighters slipped past each other by so narrow a margin, they could have traded paint. By pure luck - not that Fara would ever admit it - one of her lasers speared into the missile housed beneath the Invader's right wing. The warhead detonated in its clamps, blowing off the entire wing and destroying one of the craft's two engines. The fighter corkscrewed erratically out of control, half the fuselage on fire and the remaining engine billowing smoke. Fara's last opponent spun off towards the Belt. No one heard the pilot's screams as two asteroids crashed together with him in between.

Fara whooped and pumped a fist in the air. "Hell yeah! Sucks to be that guy!" She looped her craft in celebration and banked into line with the four Arwings, reunited at last with her new teammates. "Sorry I'm late, everyone. Got stuck in traffic."

Miyu laughed. "A woman after my own heart."

Falco smirked beneath his mask. "And then there were five. How ya feelin' now, Rudy?"

The Shakespearean wannabe cleared his throat. _"Quite a display. Quite a display, indeed. 'Tis clear, I am outmatched. How could I hope to compete? I'm no match for you."_

It took a few seconds for that to register. "What?" questioned Krystal, skepticism bleeding from her voice.

" _I admit defeat."_

Silence enveloped Star Fox's cockpits, each pilot looking at their teammates through one way glass. A still-unanswered question hovered in the air: was this guy for real?

Falco coughed. "Uh, yeah. I'm gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that."

Barron Rudolph von Stöeben's maddening voice chuckled. The noise reminded Fara of nails on a chalkboard, moustached stalkers and bad movie villains all at once. _"Oh how splendid; you're not as stupid as you look. This is the end for you, my friends."_

Miyu observed, "How, exactly? What guns do you even have on that..."

He cut her off with another chuckle. _"How about… THIS?"_ Panels slid open at the ship's front end, exposing dozens of missile racks, all of varying shapes, sizes and colors. It was like staring into the mouth of a giant prehistoric shark, with high-yield, jet-propelled explosives for teeth.

"...oh."

Fara's eyes widened. "Well _that's_ a 'fuck your strategy' variety pack, right there."

The ape laughed hysterically. The horrible noise was so shrill that Fara's ears rang in its wake. _"Time to die, little soldiers!"_

Unfortunately for "Rudy," he would never get the chance to do anything. The instant he finished speaking, a brilliant sapphire beam arcing with white electricity hit the rock crusher from above like a truck. The impact carried enough force to knock the vessel off of its trajectory. Several lights went out aboard the Venomian ship, and not one missile was fired.

"Whoa! What was that?!"

A feminine Southern Corneria drawl floated out of their headsets. _"Whoops."_ The voice was unmistakable.

Vice Admiral Nava Shapira stood aboard the brand-new _CSS Tyber_ 's bridge, clad in full dress blues (which, again, were black) right down to the ceremonial white gloves. The feline held a mug of coffee in her left paw; her other hand was clenched in a victorious fist in front of her.

"Lieutenant Chung! Status?"

A cream-furred vixen at her ten o'clock reported, "Enemy ship's main power is offline. Weapons are disabled, and their engines are operating on auxiliary generators."

"Weapons offline? Well, that's convenient. I'd say the Ion Cannon is a success."

Fox smiled at hearing the admiral's voice. She was a Fleet-wide celebrity for a reason, and her casual, almost playful manner indicated decades of experience and a long list of victories. "Good morning, Admiral. Field-testing your new flagship?"

Shapira raised her coffee mug. "Ha! I like the way you think. I was heading back to Sector Y, but I figured I'd swing by since I was in the neighborhood." She took a sip. "Ensign Rodriguez?"

 _Tyber_ 's comms officer spun in his chair. "Yes, Admiral?"

"Open a channel to the mining ship from Hell, please."

"Aye, aye, ma'am. Link is open and stable."

Shapira set her coffee down on the rim of her captain's chair and straightened her coat. "This is Vice Admiral Nava Shapira, Cornerian Federation Navy. To whom am I speaking?"

The ape blanched at his opponent's identity. _"B-B-Barron Rudolph von St-"_

Shapira cringed like she had a bad taste in her mouth. "Oh, God. I think I've heard enough." She tapped a few buttons on her wristcom, making sure the ape heard every word. "CIC, Bridge. Standby to kill with Leviathan torpedoes."

" _TAO copies. Surface, standby to kill with Leviathan torpedoes."_

" _TAO, Surface; I receive. Kill track eight-five-zero-two-three, target acquired."_

" _Charlie-Oscar (CO), TAO. CIC ready to fire."_

"Bridge copies. Spin 'em up; launch on my mark."

Stöeben was a hairsbreadth away from a panic attack. _"No! Wait! I admit defeat! I admit defeat!"_

Shapira shooed at his image on the viewscreen. "Yeah yeah yeah, fool me once." She settled back into her chair, crossed her legs and picked up her coffee. The feline narrowed her eyes at her pathetic adversary. "You attacked _my_ planet. You killed _my_ people. And now I've got you dead in space." She hummed as she realized something. "You know, this'll be a lot like licking a lollipop."

" _I… What?"_ His confusion was clear.

The admiral finished off her coffee before answering. Shapira leaned forward with a terrifying predatory smile. She ran her tongue across her canines.

"I wonder how many torpedoes it will take to get to your center…"

" _No, wait! Please! I'll do anythi-"_

"Ensign, shut him up." The gibbering monkey (and his ungodly voice) snapped out of existence, leaving the stars, Meteo, and the oh-so-intimidating 'rock crusher' in his place.

Shapira stabbed a button on her left armrest. "Commander?"

" _Yes, Admiral?"_ replied the flagship's TAO.

"Burn that son of a bitch."

Star Fox backed off as no less than _six_ Leviathan torpedoes blasted out of the _Tyber_ 's launch tubes and streaked towards their quarry. The oversized warheads were capital ship busters; just one would have gutted the rock crusher port to starboard. A half-dozen of them was complete overkill, but no one could deny the message it sent. Venom may have started this war, but Corneria would _finish_ it.

The torpedoes themselves already caused impressive explosions. When the rock crusher's dozens of missile racks cooked off, the scene turned into pure destructive art. Orange, yellow and purple explosions swallowed the ship's front end, quite literally tearing its face off. Chains of internal detonations blossomed along the hull as critical systems went up in flames, rending the ship apart from within. A massive fireball consumed the rock crusher, pieces flying out of the maelstrom like angry Frisbees. When all was said and done, the only remnants were bits of armor plating and unidentifiable masses of Titanium debris.

A single tear formed in Fara's eye. "Jesus… that was beautiful."

Shapira laughed. _"You're my type of spacer! I don't know why we didn't pick you up sooner. I've got to jet, but good luck to all of you; I hope we get the chance to work together again."_ The admiral cleared her throat and switched to address her crew. _"All hands, prepare for jump to Sector Y."_ She reclined in her chair and nodded to someone off-screen. _"Punch it."_

Motes of blue light gathered around the _Tyber_ as her jump drives charged up. With a snap, the massive ship was gone.

Krystal sighed, lowering her guard now that they had some breathing room. "Well, Fox? What now?"

"The rest of the group's reporting all clear… so, that's another mission down. Good work, everyone." The vulpine eased his craft around and flew back towards _Great Fox_. "Let's go home."

000

Fara crossed through the locker room hatch, unbuckling her helmet as she walked.

Falco pulled off his gloves and tossed them into his locker. "Hey, there she is! The woman of the hour!"

Krystal smiled and offered a simple, "Well done," amid disassembling her mask and neatly organizing its parts.

Miyu tossed a mock salute her way. "Nice job out there…" she leaned in for a fist bump, "…Baroness."

Fara quirked an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"You need a call sign. What do you think?"

"Long as you're not calling me 'Screw,' I'm happy." Miyu snickered and smacked her on the shoulder.

"Phoenix." She looked over at Fox, arms crossed and wearing a businesslike expression. He cocked his head to the side, gesturing her to follow.

Fara decided to address his concern off the bat. "I know, that was risky and stupid. It won't happen again."

Fox gave her a confused sideways glance as they wound through _Great Fox_ 's corridors. "What do you… oh, that?" He chuckled. "I should be giving you a medal for that kind of flying!"

Now it was Fara's turn to look confused. "But…"

The vulpine stopped outside his quarters. "What order did you disobey? What regs did you break? Whose lives did you put at risk?"

"I… I don't know."

Fox leveled a finger at her. "Exactly. You didn't. I'm not some CO with a stick up his ass and a bone to pick. The way I saw it? You held off a group of enemy fighters _by yourself_ , and then you took out every single one. Not to mention you were dodging asteroids the whole time, and even used them to your advantage! No one can argue it now: you're definitely Star Fox material."

"Wow," Fara replied as he beckoned her into his quarters. "Uh… thanks."

He shrugged. "You're welcome. And don't worry about getting punished for something stupid around here. We do the impossible first, and worry about the rules second."

"I like it; it's just hard to get used to. If anything, I expected special ops to be even _more_ by-the-book than the rank and file."

Fox shut the door behind them. "A lot of people expect that, and they all end up surprised. Sure, there's a few sticks in the mud, but almost everyone in spec ops has their head on straight enough to where suffocating regs aren't necessary."

"I'll keep that in mind. So, what _is_ this about, anyway?"

Fox reached into a drawer and pulled out a black tablet stamped with a red Star Fox logo. "This is your personal datapad." Fara carefully took the shiny black PDA from his outstretched hand. "I could go on and on about what it can do, but I'll spare you the boredom. The only important thing right now is building you an Arwing. The process is easy enough to figure out, but don't be afraid to ask Slippy if you have any questions. Once you've got everything how you want it, we'll send the design over to Space Dynamics."

"This is great. Thank you."

Fox smiled. "No problem."

"No; I mean… thank you. For doing all of this for me. You're giving me a whole new life. I can't thank you enough."

"You're talking to the wrong person."

"What do you mean?"

The vulpine pursed his lips. "Honestly, it wasn't even my idea in the first place. Don't get me wrong; you were _very_ good. There was just so much going on that it didn't even cross my mind. Let's just say someone gave me a push."

"Who gave… wait a minute." Fox watched her figure it out. When she did, her eyes widened. "She didn't."

Fox affirmed, "She did. Quite adamantly, as a matter of fact." He leaned against the wall. "That's all I needed. Get some rest; you've earned it."

 **Five Minutes Later…**

Fara stepped into Krystal's room and shut the door behind her. The sapphire vixen was laying on her mattress in a crew tee-shirt and red jogging pants, reading a book about Kathari history.

"Hey," Fara greeted her.

Krystal looked up and closed her book. "Hey," she answered and stood up. "How are you? You had me worried back there."

Fara crossed her arms. "Really, I can take care of myself."

"I know. I just didn't want you to fly off and blow yourself up on your first mission with us."

"Speaking of flying with you," she stepped forward, "Did you vouch for me?"

Krystal smiled all-knowingly and tapped a finger against her chin. "I _may_ have planted a bug in his ear last night…"

"OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU!" Krystal dropped her book and her tail shot out in agitation. She let out a startled _yip_ as Fara turned into a brown blur and barreled forward to wrap her in a bear hug. Krystal was lifted a few inches off the deck, and the poor vixen felt something crack in her chest as Fara endlessly repeated her thanks.

Krystal wheezed, "Fara… can't breathe… put me down!" She did, but she didn't stop thanking her. Fara looked so happy, Krystal half-expected her to break into song or cartwheel around the room. She was flying with some of the best pilots in the military, fighting the war on the front lines. The crew had welcomed her with open arms, too, treating her as one of their own from the get-go. She would avenge her former wingmates from Divot Squadron, and if Venom thought she'd stop there? Well, they had another thing coming.

 _All right, Andross. The gloves are off._

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** That's another one down. I'm surprised at how fast I knocked this chapter out, but I'm still hesitant to say you should expect quick updates. I want to do it _right_ , not _fast_. Next chapter will probably be a shorter one, I'm not sure yet. What I _am_ sure of, is that we'll be seeing more of Zach Palmer, very soon.

Am I forgetting something? I feel like I'm forgetting something, but I have no idea. Oh well, feel free to yell at me if I did.

...right; that's it! FUCK. THIS. BOSS. Least favorite boss in all of SF64. "Ohhh-huehuehuehuehue I'm no match for you XD!" I know I didn't give y'all a proper boss fight here. My reasoning? I hate this boss, so I made him… this horrible cringefest of a character. Also, I wanted to have Shapira come in and pimp-slap a major enemy. She and Palmer are turning into my two favorite personal OCs.

Okay, _now_ that's everything. Peace!

 **Trivia**

Yes, Krystal was indeed reading a book about Kathari history. For all you Whitefur fans out there (and the Great Furball himself), wink-wink hint-hint nudge-nudge.

The _Numbani_ -class corvette looks very similar to the Blockade Runners from Star Wars (switch the colors for Cornerian regulation grey-and-blue paint). Just in case my horrible descriptive skills were insufficient.

 **CODEX**

 _ **CSS Tyber**_ **:** **[CLASSIFIED]** *Not really; I'm still working on the design. That's why I didn't describe it in the chapter.

 **Cornerian Federation Navy (CFN):** While Venomian military forces prefer simple, reliable technology produced in large numbers, their Cornerian counterparts are more "gadget-oriented". The Federation Navy's ships are top of the line, full of cutting-edge equipment, and staffed by highly trained crews. The downside to this is that every ship destroyed and every crew killed are much more expensive to replace than their Venomian adversaries. With this in mind, CFN doctrine is built around coordinated operations, precision strikes and offensive battles. If a conflict is drawn out for too long, the Navy risks losing ships faster than it can replace them. Currently, there are 2,821 ships under the CFN's flag.

 _ **Numbani**_ **-Class Corvette:** Corvettes are the lightest combat vessels in the Cornerian Navy. The _Numbani_ -class is a newer model, faster and more maneuverable than its predecessors. Highly-trained crews of 100 personnel can make these ships positively dance in tight quarters; their maneuverability is unparalleled by heavier warships, allied and enemy alike. Classified next-gen armor designs and hull composition give enemy targeters a very hard time with locking in shots. The _Numbani_ -class is lightly armed: twin Spearfish torpedo launchers are housed in the nose, while an ultraviolet laser array serves as a point defense system. The shortcomings in weapons and armor thickness are more than made up for by the ace up its sleeve. _Numbani_ corvettes find their niche in larger battles thanks to their wide-spectrum ECM disruptors. These disruptors not only scramble targeting systems; they also throw enemy sensors and comms into complete disarray. _Numbani_ corvettes' ECM generators are selective; they will only target non-allied craft in their area of effect. The _Numbani_ -class is well suited to reconnaissance, intelligence and espionage. In naval engagements, they are often sent forward in groups to shield larger fleets from opening missile barrages.

 **Meteo:** Meteo is a rare Class C asteroid field: its contents are dangerously close to each other and make navigation extremely difficult. The Meteo belt occupies much of the space around Corneria, which has resulted in the CDF using it as a natural defensive line. Many ships prefer to go over or under the belt, though a fleet that can sneak through the hazards can catch nearby planets and fleets off guard.


	8. Assassins

Chapter 8: Assassins

A/N: Quick blood and gore warning for the last part of this chapter. Believe me when I say you'll know when it's coming. The increased violence here does not signify a change in my writing style; it is meant as a reflection of the character's mental state at the time. That being said, please enjoy.

000

Zach Palmer breathed.

He coughed and sputtered and tried to hack up a lung but he breathed. The panther's eyes flew open, and immediately slammed themselves shut again at the blinding light. Zach's ragged deep breaths calmed as the shock of regaining consciousness wore off. He tried opening his eyes again, blinking at stray tears that blurred his vision.

"Easy," came a voice from his left. _Male. Baritone. Probably middle-aged._ "You've been out for quite a while." Zach groaned and tried to sit, but a hand on his shoulder gently forced him back down. " _Easy_. Don't go undoing all my hard work."

His eyes had adjusted by now, allowing him to recognize the formerly glaring brightness as afternoon sunlight. Solar's glow shone through a window at the opposite end of the room. The walls were made of logs. _A cabin? Where the hell…?_ He looked down at himself and the white-covered bed he laid in.

"What… what happened?" he rasped, looking over at the other man in the room. He was a German Shepherd wearing a button-down shirt and jeans. The animal looked to be about fifty. He seemed harmless enough, but outlines of muscle on his arms showed Zach's host could handle himself.

"You tell me." The man leaned forward. "My wife and I drove up on you in Millikan Pass. You were passed out in the middle of the road, gun in hand and a bullet in your stomach. Another guy was dead in the dirt with an assault rifle five feet from him, and he had a heavy revolver in his pocket. Judging by your car's government plates, and your ID," He fished a card out of his pocket and showed it to Zach. The panther's own suited image smiled back at him, standing in front of the CIA's insignia occupying the background wall. "My guess is somebody remembered your face."

The CIA agent decided to hold off with saying he was a data analyst and not a field operative. The cogs in Zach's brain started moving again and his mental barriers raised a bit. "Who are you? How did you figure all this out?"

The canine set Zach's ID on the nightstand next to him. "I'm Tyler. I was a cop; fifteen years on the force. It's safe to say I picked up some investigative skills along the way."

"Where am I? How long was I out?"

Tyler scratched his head. "About… seventy-two hours, maybe? You're at my family's log cabin, so don't worry about anyone finding you here. It's our little getaway from society when we need it."

"What's been happening? I know about the war, but…"

Zach's host chuckled. "Son, you've got a lot of catching up to do."

000

General Pepper watched Corneria City's skyscrapers go by his car window. Construction crews were hard at work repairing the damage Venom had done. Police officers and military personnel alike patrolled the streets - a necessary precaution. Their presence had diminished as order was restored, but those who remained were still ready to fight at the drop of a hat. They all wore body armor, and most carried scatterguns and rifles. Pepper even saw a Marine with an underbarrel grenade launcher attached to his weapon. He prayed the man wouldn't need it.

Amid his musings, the officer next to him recited a lengthy schedule. The canine had stopped listening to his aide a few minutes ago, knowing the lieutenant would keep him on-schedule through the day regardless.

The general sat in the right-hand seat, and the lieutenant in the middle. On the left side of the back row sat one of Pepper's bodyguards, Staff Sergeant Mallard. The animal's thick, muscled frame made for an intimidating presence. Most of the arctic vulpine's black combat jumpsuit was covered by grey, carapace-like armor made of interlocking polyalloy plates. The reliance on smaller, tougher plates made for increased durability and decreased bulk. An angular helmet provided additional protection, and its transparent visor shielded his eyes from shrapnel. His weapon, a high-caliber magnetic sidearm, was secured in a hardcase on his thigh. As far as social skills were concerned, he was a man of few words until the situation warranted otherwise. Even with a few questionable marks on his file, he was loyal to the end. He'd saved Pepper's life - along with the entire Fortuna Civil Council - three years ago during an economic summit, when unknown extremists had bombed the Colonial Affairs building. Despite Mallard's reluctance to accept the award, his dress uniform proudly displayed a Silver Star - one of the Army's highest commendations, behind only the Distinguished Service Cross and the legendary Medal of Honor - to prove it.

In the front passenger's seat was Lieutenant Hayes, Pepper's other bodyguard. The young steel-grey lynx was much more free spirited than her counterpart. As Mallard had put it, she hadn't been in the service long enough for cynicism to sink into her bones. She'd responded with a laugh and another swig of whiskey. After Pepper's last meeting with the Star Fox team, a certain _other_ lynx had taken an immediate liking to her - something Admiral Shapira told him was never a good sign. Still, Lieutenant Hayes was an exemplary soldier (when on duty) and fearless to the point of insanity. Her outfit matched Staff Sergeant Mallard's, though she'd ditched the helmet and some of the less important plates for even lighter weight. Her weapon rested in her lap. The S4 magnetic submachine gun, nicknamed the "Buzzard" for its high rate of fire, was favored by Marine tech troopers for its mobility and wide range of modifications. Between the weapon and the woman herself, it was hard to tell which one was more dangerous. Hayes claimed knowledge of seventeen ways to kill someone with her bare hands. From what he had seen, Pepper believed that was an understatement.

"Sir?" called the driver, not breaking eye contact with the road. Like Pepper and the lieutenant beside him, the canine behind the wheel wore his red Class A dress uniform.

"Yes, Captain?" answered Pepper. He could see blue police sawhorses across the road, as well as a small handful of emergency vehicles behind the barricade.

"The road's blocked ahead; it looks like a building collapsed. We'll have to go around."

 _Damned Venomians._ Pepper nodded. "Very well." The general's approval given, he flipped on the turn signal and made a right down an alleyway.

Mallard and Hayes went on heightened alert. Stacks of crates and other containers were scattered throughout the alley, providing far more blind spots than either bodyguard was comfortable with. Mallard popped his hardcase strap with a flick of his thumb and wrapped his fingers around the pistol's grip. Hayes picked up her SMG from her lap and held it in a loose cradle. The pair of soldiers scanned every visible angle, instinct raising their ears and stiffening their tails.

A hail of magnetically-propelled rounds pierced through the car's front window. The driver didn't even make a sound as bullets tore into him and splattered the windshield with blood. A tungsten slug struck Hayes in the chestplate. The woman let out a strangled gasp, clutching at the dent in her armor and falling sideways out of the vehicle. Pepper threw his door open and front rolled out of the way, coming out of it behind a cluster of metal crates. Mallard flung open his own door and sprinted to take cover at the rear of the car, drawing his pistol along the way. The lieutenant in the middle seat caught three rounds in the chest as he tried to make his own escape. Mallard stood from his crouch just enough to fire off two controlled shots. To his dismay, both missed by less than a centimeter.

Hayes pushed herself up with one hand, sucking in pained gasps of air. She finished catching her breath behind the door as bullets sparked on the pavement around her. The lynx reached up and smashed the passenger window with her elbow. Hayes peeked up to gather targets. She counted seven before a stray burst made her duck.

A red-hot tracer round speared through the door, less than an inch from her face. "Ah! Jesus, fuck!" Staying behind the car was a death trap, and Lieutenant Hayes did _not_ feel like dying today. The bodyguard shouldered her SMG and shifted to a kneel.

"Mallard, go!" Hayes fired in bursts, keeping the enemies' heads down while controlling her own recoil. Mallard took advantage of her covering fire, breaking away from his position and sprinting for Pepper. Just as he reached the general, the arctic fox's head snapped back and he crashed into the metal crate next to Pepper. The canine hurried to assess his bodyguard's condition. There was a blackened dent in his helmet front-and-center, and jagged shards of his now shattered visor still clung to the headgear's brim. He was no medic, but Mallard's steady breaths, pulse and lack of bleeding convinced Pepper the shot had done little more than knock him out.

As for Lieutenant Hayes, vicious swearing and the desperate firing of her submachine gun were enough to reassure Pepper she was still alive. The lynx called out a kill, and then another. _Two down, five to go._ Hayes broke from her position and ran behind a stack of containers, ahead of Mallard and Pepper.

A third man took the initiative, closing in to kill her at point blank. Hayes moved like a flash, sending his rifle flying with a crescent kick from her left leg. Her right leg snapped straight up and struck him square in the chin. Stars exploded in the stunned tiger's vision. Hayes spun him around and slammed him against a crate with her left forearm against his throat. The animal gagged, kicked and pawed at her arm in futile attempts to dislodge her grip. Hayes cocked her right arm back, drew her claws, and skewered him in the stomach once, then twice. A twist of her arm, and he fell limp.

Quick as Hayes' takedown was, it left her vulnerable. The four remaining assailants were quite displeased with this woman killing three of their friends, and did not hesitate to return the favor. Hayes screamed as a line of bullets ripped into her back. The lynx collapsed face up, tears forming in her eyes and blood running out beneath her.

A trio of police officers sprinted into the alleyway, weapons drawn and intent to provide assistance. All three were gunned down without thought or remorse. Pepper swore the heavens were taunting him. _Three more, Cornelius. Three more just died for_ _ **you**_ _._

General Cornelius Pepper was rarely angry. His position could be demanding at times and required commendable self-control, to be sure, but Cornelius had gained a reputation as the calm one in the room. He responded to feelings with facts. No aggressive reporter had found success trying to bait him; no self-centered politician had managed to blackmail him. For years General Pepper was an immovable object, and his adversaries on the Congressional floor had come to respect his influence.

All of that evaporated when he heard Lieutenant Hayes scream. How many of his soldiers had screamed like that, as they were shot to death or ripped apart in an explosion? How many of those soldiers' families had screamed like that, overcome with grief upon learning their brave sons and daughters would never come home? Half of Cornelius wanted to believe it was all his fault; his leadership had failed them and they were dead because of it. His other half disagreed: those who made it through were _alive_ because of him.

These two warring halves came to an abrupt peace when a single thought formed between them. Cornelius let the thought wash over him; let it sink into his very being; let it become part of who he was. The four words spoke a simple, undeniable truth.

 _This. Will._ _ **Not**_ _. Stand._

In that moment, Cornelius swore vengeance against Venom, its allies, and Andross himself. Wherever the black-hearted ape cowered, he would be rooted out and exterminated. Cornelius would tear down everything Andross had built for his glorious empire, brick by brick. His forces would be hunted to the last man until they surrendered to the beautiful symphony of heavy-handed justice. But, ready as he was to start… that was tomorrow. Today?

Today, seven _very_ unintelligent men had dared to try their hands at assassinating General Cornelius Pepper. The four who remained were about to learn why their target had been nicknamed "the Bloodhound."

Now Pepper screamed with the dead soldiers and their families; a roar of agony so filled with rage and loss, it seemed to shake the earth itself. His cry showed the kind of pain that only surfaced when those you loved, those you cared about, those you were _supposed to protect_ , were gone because you did nothing. This time, he was here. This time, he would act.

Pepper reached down and took Mallard's sidearm from its unconscious owner. It was heavy and cumbersome to handle, but a good hit from its 50-caliber ammunition would put a target in the ground for good.

The first animal, a grizzly bear, came around the corner expecting to find a tired old man. What he actually found was the barrel of the largest handgun in military service. Pepper wasted no time pulling the trigger. The recoil kicked like a mule and his aim was too high, but it made no difference. A quarter of the bear's head exploded and his massive body fell towards Pepper. His enemy's death having not quite registered, the general adjusted his aim to the chest and fired again. The sheer force of the impact reversed the bear's momentum. His corpse toppled backwards to land face-up.

"Holy shit!"

"Oh, God! Danny!" The alarm at losing their muscle was clear as day.

Pepper laughed at how quickly they had grown afraid. "Come on, boys! It's open season, and guess who's hunting!"

Pepper, now stood upright with specks of blood darkening his already crimson uniform, waited for them to take the bait. One of them did. Pepper heard someone yell something about how that was his friend, followed by the approaching sound of shoes on concrete.

It was a grey-and-black-spotted leopard with a scatter laser. He was fast; Pepper had to give him that. Unfortunately, what he possessed in speed he lacked in spatial awareness. The assailant's overaggressive charge left him one hundred percent open to Pepper's knee driving into his groin. A yelp of pain was all he managed to get out before Cornelius slammed a left hook into his cheek. His opponent was surprisingly quick to recover. The leopard closed until they were almost chest to chest, grappled Pepper's arms, and pinned them to his sides with equally surprising strength.

 _Same mistake, junior._ Pepper kneed him in the groin again, and _again_ before his assailant loosened his grip. It wasn't by much, but it was enough for the general to free his left arm. That arm's hand, he immediately closed around the leopard's throat. Both men grunted with physical strain. Pepper grit his teeth to position his _other_ arm; the leopard's face turned red as he fought to prevent the general from doing so. It only took a few seconds of one-sided struggling for Cornelius to settle the hand cannon against his ribs. Pepper saw the flash in his enemy's eyes: he knew it was over. He fired a round into the leopard's chest. The assassin went limp with the plume of blood that came out the other side, Pepper's hand around his throat now the sole thing that kept his body upright.

The general's eyes widened as he noticed the third man. His weapon was pointed at the general, but the vulpine hadn't wanted to shoot his friend. A pity, that he was standing out in the open. In one swift move, Pepper released the dead leopard, brought his leg up and gave the corpse his boot. It was meant to startle him; actually trying to kick a body at someone ten meters away would have been ridiculous. The morbid distraction worked. When the vulpine regained focus, Pepper had already shot him twice and he was crashing back into a stack of steel pallets.

Further down the alleyway, the last assailant's hands were shaking as he took in the scene around him. How in the hell did a supposedly fragile old man just do… all of this?! When he turned to look back at his target, the image would haunt his dreams for years. Pepper marched toward him with no haste whatsoever, but the feline swore the concrete broke with his every step. He would not have been surprised if the general's eyes were smoldering red at this point. His dress uniform was blood-spattered and torn. The smoking pistol at his hip completed the terrifying ensemble. All put together, the picture hammered home a revelation. They had not killed a general; they had only awakened a sleeping bloodhound.

 _Krazoa, save me! Have mercy! Please!_ His shaking body and fraying nerves told him to run, which he did. He dropped his rifle, spun around and bolted. Oh, did he run… for all of ten feet.

Several dozen guns clicked in his face. They didn't shoot, so his prayers for mercy were answered after all. What must have been twenty different voices ordered him to get on the floor with varying degrees of civility. It seemed like a good idea to comply when he caught the tail end of "blow your fucking head off." The police, all five branches of the military, and even a few armed civilians held him at gunpoint as he raised his hands. He could tell they all _really_ wanted him to try something, so much so that he was scared of his ass twitching the wrong way.

In a moment of clarity, the would-be assassin realized the scope of Andross' misjudgment. This first strike, deadly as it was, had not left the Cornerian people demoralized and broken. No, it had only thrown a firecracker into the wolves' den and stirred it up into a frenzy. Pepper was indeed a bloodhound, but he was just one of the alphas. Venom had awoken the entire multi-billion-member pack. No matter where he looked, Pepper's expression glared back. The Cornerians' faces promised payback in its bloodiest form. Hell, he and his late accomplices had probably just convinced everyone watching the news feeds to go sign up. Even a beautiful snow-white mother rabbit and her three adorable little fluffballs looked about ready to tear him in half.

Once he'd surrendered, no less than five military personnel held the wannabe hitman down to put him in binders. With the area secure, a medical team beelined for Hayes. The city coroner service arrived shortly after to start filling body bags.

"For your sake," Pepper growled into the man's ear and pointed towards his dying bodyguard, "You had better hope she lives."

000

 **[09:32] /Secure Connection Established/**

 **[09:33] user_2: Report.**

 **[09:33] user_1: Mission failed.**

 **[09:34] user_2: Elaborate.**

 **[09:34] user_1: Six field assets Status Black. One Status Red.**

 **[09:34] user_2: Confirming one field asset Status Red.**

 **[09:34] user_1: Confirm. It appears we underestimated the target.**

 **[09:36] user_1: Sir?**

 **[09:37] user_2: You were instructed to take precautions.**

 **[09:37] user_1: We were, and we did.**

 **[09:38] user_2: Understood. Have you been compromised?**

 **[09:39] user_1: Negative. Requesting new orders.**

 **[09:39] user_2: Understood. Stand by.**

 **[09:41] /user_2 Has Terminated Link/**

 **[09:42] /Remote Data Purge Initiated/**

Police would later find the body of a German Shepherd on a rooftop overlooking the alley where General Pepper was ambushed. There were no visible injuries, and nothing to identify the apparent victim. DNA and fingerprint testing returned no results. Forensic investigators declared the cause of death to be acute electrical discharge. The point of origin appeared to be the spinal column at the base of the neck. The discharge's origin was internal and its delivery very precise, though authorities found absolutely nothing capable of accomplishing this.

Police retrieved the German Shepherd's tablet from the scene as well. The tablet was a common store-bought model. Running its serial number showed a purchase date on the subject's date of death. It was clear that the tablet had been used due to the many fingerprints investigators removed from the screen - those print sets also returned negative results. Perhaps most intriguing given the limited evidence is that, upon powering the tablet, detectives reported being greeted with the device's initial setup screen… despite a battery level of thirty-six percent.

The time of death was 9:39 AM.

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, that was intense. As stated up above, I know this jumped to M violence but we'll be takin' it down a few notches from here on in. Just while we're on the subject of this scene though, am I the only one who thinks Adam Baldwin fits Pepper like a glove in this scenario? Seriously, this just came to me and now I can't get it out of my head.

I also know this was a short chapter. Sorry about that; I just couldn't fit this anywhere else. We're looking at one, maybe two more chapters before we head off to Fichina… and introduce a new faction.

Shoutouts to Xengo and FurFur as always. Oh _sit down_ FurFur; I've put you first in _every_ other chapter!

Cheers, everyone!

 **Trivia**

Literally nothing whatsoever.

 **Review Responses**

 **FurFur (c6,** _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **):** Haha, it's good to know I'm bringing you nostalgia with my ship acronyms. But with _Great Fox_ itself, _Halcion_ -class or not, I never realized just how similar to the _Pillar of Autumn_ I made my version of the ship. Just… whoa, it was kind of flooring. It brings a smile to my face hearing just how much you like how I write Krystal, too. With Fara, you pretty much nailed it on how I was using her as… I guess, a vessel through which things are explained in the chapter. But wait, the promotion scene brought a tear to your eye? That is a _huge_ relief, because I was most worried about that scene with its heavier military influence in a game series about… not the military. I think you get what I'm trying to say :)

 **Moar FurFur (c7, Sweep and Clear - Meteo):** I'm glad you enjoyed reading Krystal, because I sure enjoyed writing her. One of the biggest logic holes in SF64 for me was, "How the hell did the Venomians get one freaking ship past a planetary defense grid and launch a devastating attack on the homeworld?" I had been tossing and turning about that for literal months, and it felt _so_ good to come up with (what I think is) a legit explanation. As for Fara, her first real dogfight was unbelievably fun to write. "Come on, come to Mama!" *smiles fondly* Shapira was fun, too… then again, she's always fun (*cough*). And yes, you are completely tooting your own horn with Kathari history; and _yes_ , I'm okay with that.

 **CODEX**

 **Cornerian Federation Army (CFA):** The backbone of the Federation armed forces, and by far the largest branch of its military. Those on the Army's payroll fill jobs of all types, from infantry to nurses to UAV pilots to explosives disposal technicians. Currently, there are about 100 million men and women in service across the Lylat System, with 70 million on active duty and 30 million in the reserves. Due to recent events, those 30 million troops may be called into active service far sooner than they had been expecting.  
 **  
Cornerian Federation Marine Corps (CFMC):** If the Army is the Federation's backbone, then the Marines are the heart. These soldiers receive the toughest training out of all five branches, with an eighteen-week boot camp before they even officially enter the service. The CFMC's Marines not only receive the best training, but the best equipment as well. Most units stick with the go-to loadouts one would expect from frontline infantry and assault troops, but some specialized units, dubbed "Tech Troopers," make surprisingly effective use of mobility, light weapons and defensive equipment. The CFMC currently employs 15 million Marines, and every single one of them is prepared to make Venom fight and die for every inch of ground.  
 **  
Cornerian Federation Air Corps (CFAC):** Arguably redundant due to the existence of an interstellar Navy, the CFAC (pronounced sea-fac) is the Cornerian military's planetside air force. Its pilots mostly fight in-atmosphere or in orbit when the CFN requires backup. As of late, however, CFAC units attached to Navy ships have become a much more common sight. This is partially due to the idea that if the added firepower can stop the Venomians in space, having the pilots wait for a groundside attack would be counterproductive. In reality, though, the change in doctrine serves more as a necessary force replenishment due to the high mortality rate of CFN pilots in large-scale naval engagements.

 **Scatter Laser:** Okay, informal Codex entry here. The concept of a "laser shotgun" is not only possible, but incredibly simple. See, lasers use a lens to focus the beam. Just replace the _lens_ with an appropriately cut _prism_ , and bam; the laser "scatters." That is literally all you have to do. Pretty cool, in my opinion.

 **Cornerian Federation (UPDATED):** _*The following is an excerpt from the Cornerian Historical Archives. By that, I mean I got lowkey jealous of FurFur's AU being so goddamned_ _ **cool**_ _and_ _ **detailed**_ _and stayed up until like 4 AM piecing together Cornerian history. This is your fault, you monstrous furball. Now, feel the first steps of me never even coming close to catching up, and feel the scathing judgmental fires of petty sweet meaningless revenge that does not exist! No, I'm not insane! (plz send help and/or Shapira)_

Corneria has always been the Lylat System's dominant power. The planet's government has taken many forms and innumerable names over the millennia. The Cornerian Federation is the most recent. It was christened as it is known today centuries ago, growing out of the United Nations of Corneria (UNC) on the heels of a budding first colony on Katina. For a time the Federation ruled directly over Katina, and then Fortuna as well. Once both colonies were well established and self-sufficient, they began forming their own identities. They would eventually come to desire independence. After many long months of negotiation and conflict - to great relief, solely bureaucratic in nature - that independence would be granted. Agreements were reached to guarantee the eventual sovereignty of all future colonies as well, an announcement that was met with much gratitude and celebration. Even so, the Cornerian Federation maintains military installations on all of the colonies, both on the surface and in orbit. This is done with the respective planetary governments' permission, which the Cornerians' hosts are allowed to revoke given appropriate reason. Thanks to friendly political relations and strong trade ties, no such incidents have yet arisen.

Following the colonies' independence, the Cornerian government became a Federation of its own nations rather than of its colonies. Those same nations had been united under a global banner for so long that the borders between them are now clear on maps alone. Regional culture influences exist harmoniously to this day, as the last vestiges of extremism and oppressive theocratic states were stomped out through conflicts long forgotten.

The Cornerian people enjoy the benefits of a strong economy and a government that values its people. That economic strength has come hand in hand with high-quality education, both of which have dropped the unemployment rate below four percent. Poverty, homelessness and crime statistics are at an all-time low as well, and continue to drop with every year. It is unlikely that any of the above will reach zero. Regardless of that, one of a Cornerian citizen's most sacred values will always be to help those less fortunate. Economic "class" still exists, as it does with all capitalist powers. Some are born into the nobility of old. Their titles remain little more than just that, but their wealth laid the foundations of such corporate giants as Space Dynamics. Some are born less financially gifted but go on to hold the jobs that keep massive corporations afloat. These lines exist in Cornerian society, but they are not barricades. Economic mobility has never been easier; with the right investments, careful planning and a booming stock market at their backs, men and women have shot up the ladder like rockets; from cashiers to Chief Financial Officers; waitresses to world-class chefs; science teachers to great astrophysicists. Corneria is in a golden age, and it shows no signs of stopping.

Three words unite the Cornerian people at their cores: Duty, Compassion, Innovation. None were imposed by grandiose speeches or indoctrinated through federal propaganda. These central beliefs are of the people's making. Duty is to one's fellow Cornerian, to one's task, and to one's society. Duty drives many to join the military, not in hopes of war, but for the incredible life experiences and a desire to solve Lylat's problems. Compassion is for the struggles of those less fortunate, for the pains of friends, and for the sacrifices others make. Duty and Compassion combined form Integrity: the resolve to do what is right, even at cost to oneself. Finally, there is Innovation: the driving force behind Corneria's massive success. Innovation created the wheel, built the first cities, bent electricity to the will of mortals, wiped out AIDS, found a cure for cancer, and sent Cornerians to the stars beyond. Thirst for discovery is all but embedded in Cornerian genetics, leading untold thousands on their hunt for the next great breakthrough every day. All of this culminates in a strong sense of nationalism, insatiable curiosity, and a desire to share the fruits of their labor with the rest of the Lylat System.

 **Venomian Republic (UPDATED):** _*The following is roughly translated from graffiti-speak found in sketchy alleyways, on the backs of stop signs, and next to disturbingly accurate and/or ornate penis carvings on the insides of Porta-Potties installed on military bases._

Literally fucking North Korea.


	9. Settling In

Chapter 9: Settling In

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Just a quick thing before we get started. Thank you, all of you, for sticking with me this long. Just seeing the numbers on my profile brings a smile to my face. If you have any feedback or suggestions, feel free to leave a review; they really help me improve and they bring your ideas to my attention. If you want to get in touch, drop me a PM. That's what I did with general whitefur and Xengo, and now I can't imagine this fic without them.

Keep being awesome, and enjoy the chapter!

 **PS:** If you have received a second update alert for this chapter, that's because I want back and did the Codex entries. You're welcome :)

000

 **July 17, 09:00 Hours**

 **Central Corneria City (Federal District)**

 **Mechanized Military Patrol**

Three urban grey M5 Lancer IFVs stopped at the roadside in front of the Federation's military nerve center. The vehicles' brakes squeaked as their six large, bulletproof tires slowed to a halt.

Though the M5 Lancer was technically an infantry fighting vehicle (or "IFV," as it was abbreviated), it doubled as an armored personnel carrier. Sloped plating and an angular, well-armed front end were clear signs of an assault vehicle. The rest of its frame was more boxlike; this was where the M5 carried its charge of a half dozen soldiers. The end result was an unconventional mix of what was, until then, two separate vehicle categories. The M5's success sparked the concept of "hybrid warfare," where vehicles were designed to fill multiple roles. This both cut out the stratification plaguing the armored corps and made them fluid enough to adapt to any situation. When both the infantry and their mounted comrades brought their full capacity to the table, they were a force unlike any other.

These things were important to General Pepper, but they were far from his mind at the moment. The canine sat between two grey uniformed Army soldiers with GP-98 beam laser rifles in their laps. Three more identically equipped soldiers sat across from them. For a moment, rustling fatigues made the only sound in the carrier bay when the Lancers stopped. Mechanical sounds took over as the vehicle's ramp lowered. The five infantrymen shifted their weapons into low carry positions.

Pepper and his entourage exited the middle IFV in pairs seconds before the ramp fully dropped, as did the squads in the other two vehicles. The soldiers spread out and took up firing positions as if they were securing a combat zone. With the incident of less than an hour ago, no precautions were overlooked.

The general's unbuttoned coat billowed in the wind. Pepper squinted and brought a hand up to shield his eyes while they adjusted to the sunlight. Incessant shouting and camera flashes to his left signaled the media's presence. Pepper gave a silent prayer of thanks for the Marine honor guards who blocked their approach. The two lines of Marines in olive drab green dress uniforms were armed, but their hard-jawed stoic expressions alone were intimidating enough.

Several brave (and foolish) reporters raised their microphones in General Pepper's direction. The twenty Marines closed ranks, reforming into a shoulder-to-shoulder blockade with two parade ground stomps. The camera-wielding savages took the hint and backed off.

The seventeen freshly disembarked Army troops folded in around Pepper, and the large group strode towards the Federation Joint Command Center. Solar was near its apex in the sky, but the large black skyscraper still cast a shadow over the military personnel as they approached. The building's size never failed to impress Pepper even after so many years working here. Sunlight created shining white reflections against the skyscraper's glossy black surface.

An oversized Cornerian Federation Seal, easily seen from the street, was placed above the front entrance. The spread-winged gold eagle, somehow shining in defiance of the metal's deep shade, kept an eternal watch over the courtyard below. The three lightning bolts clutched in each of its talons were a testament to the Federation's power. The cerulean background mirrored the primary color of the Cornerian flag. A gold ring bordered the Seal, identical in color to the eagle within. Along its circumference was engraved the nation's motto, _"Per Aspera, Ad Astra"_ or "Through Adversity, to the Stars" in modern Cornerian.

The courtyard the eagle watched over was pleasing to the eyes with its light red, almost rose stonework, trickling fountains, and flights of steps bordered by lush green strips. To the civilian, it was a welcome spot to relax, or wait for fathers, mothers and spouses to leave work for the night. To the soldier, it was a masterfully concealed defense network. Armor plating hidden inside the brickwork made the staircase landings and café overlook into defensible positions in case of an attack. Slightly different-colored patches of brick scattered throughout the open courtyard, could slide apart to birth automated turrets loaded with high caliber armor-piercing ammunition. The wide open space between the street and courtyard left assailants just that: wide open.

A pair of Marines, AMR magnetic rifles slung across their chests, opened the front doors as Pepper approached. The group of soldiers abandoned their general when he crossed through the doorway; their task was done. The seventeen men walked back towards the IFVs to continue their patrol. Two other Marines and an Air Corps officer waited on the other side, the latter wearing his branch's dark blue dress uniform.

Both officers skipped formalities. When Pepper moved past him, the Air Corps officer turned on a heel and matched pace beside Pepper. The two Marines fell into step off their rear corners.

Pepper began, "Good morning, Colonel. I assume you're leading the investigation?"

The man nodded, "Yes, sir. I am attempting to establish a joint effort with Naval Intelligence - through a Navy acquaintance of course. Their resources are most suited to this situation."

"How is Naval Intelligence ideal here?"

The colonel blinked. "We _are_ dealing with Venomian Intelligence, are we not? Fighting fire with fire is the best course of action."

Pepper made a noise in the back of his throat. "You're wasting your time."

"Why do you think that, sir?"

"The men who attacked us didn't move like soldiers, or trained agents. They were amateurs. That rules out both enemy Intelligence agents and special operators. Now, Venomian Intelligence _is_ known to work through external parties: assassins, mercenaries and the like. My assailants were far too inexperienced to be considered for that kind of work, though." Pepper took a breath. As he did, a shocking realization occurred to him now that he had worked through the facts out loud. "Venom didn't launch this attack."

His counterpart opened and closed his jaw. "But… but sir, that doesn't make any sense. Who else has the resources to stage a move like this?"

"Oh, Venom has its hands in this mess; of that there is no doubt. They provided indirect aid - likely financial in nature. The next suspects would be Titan Industries or Imperium Corporation, due to their ties with Venom and large PMC branches. But as I said before, these men were amateurs, and both of those PMCs do _not_ hire amateurs. So, Venom's main allies are off the table."

"Then who do we look at next, sir? The Sovereign Citizens?"

The colonel's statement was halfhearted. The Sovereign Cornerian People, more commonly known as the Sovereign Citizens, was a semi-legitimate sociopolitical activist group with several extreme offshoots. Even with those radical sects, and occasional questions in Congress on whether to brand them as domestic terrorists, the colonel doubted they were actually involved. His reason for doubting their involvement was the same as Congress' reason for _not_ labeling them terrorists: the radicals were purely vocal. The group as a whole was known for little more than harassing law enforcement, covering their faces, and trying to stir up legitimate protests into riots.

All of that notwithstanding, their motives were political, if _anarchy_ counted as a 'political motive.' They had nothing to gain from bumping off a high-ranking military official. So, the colonel was surprised when Pepper took his implication seriously.

Pepper nodded, "Those anarchists are a good place to start. This attack may not be from their playbook, but we are dealing with a very unusual situation. Venomian Intelligence has not worked with this... caliber of individuals before, but that does not mean they won't do so now." The canine hummed. "Venom's treasury is large thanks to its allies; supporting the SCP and groups like it would not strain their pockets. At best - best for them, I mean - the Core Worlds are thrown into chaos from civic uprisings. At worst, they get breathing room if we divert resources to combat terrorist groups."

 _It's a win-win scenario for Venom. The only variable is_ how much _they win._ The colonel was stunned to say the least. Not only did General Pepper take his throwaway question seriously; he cut it apart and proved its validity in less than ninety seconds. _No wonder Congress listens to him._ "Should I inform the police? Or federal authorities?"

General Pepper shook his head, "This investigation must be as airtight as possible. That means no police, and no federal agents unless absolutely necessary. We keep our efforts confined to the military for now."

"I understand, sir, but you know military action against civilians is illegal. The Defense Force is our most logical option, here."

"You're right. Get General Riker on the phone. Let's hope the CDF can make some headway."

The colonel nodded as they and their escort stopped by an elevator. "Right away, sir. But there is another thing I have to point out. If the anarchists - or whatever other organization - attacked you, how did they know where to set their ambush? They would need the route of your car… and that is privileged information." Just _how_ privileged that information was, needed not be said. If there was a traitor, he worked in this very building.

Pepper seemed thoughtful for a moment before replying. "You make a good point, Colonel. I'll contact MCID (Military Criminal Investigative Department); our own agents may turn something up." Both men were disturbed at the idea of such a high-ranking traitor, but neither was naive enough to think it impossible.

The elevator doors opened. The colonel asked one last question as Pepper stepped inside. "Sir, this traitor… if there is one… do you have any idea who? Or why?"

"No. But I intend to find out." The doors closed.

000

 **July 17, 19:45 Hours**

 _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **, Orbiting Corneria**

 **No Active Operations**

Fara reached down and pulled up her black pants. She turned her head to the cracked open bathroom door and called out to her roommate. "Y'know, wearing this is _really_ weird," she said in reference to the Navy uniform she was assembling around herself, "but in a good way."

"How's that?" questioned Krystal, herself already in uniform. The vixen rested on her bunk, laying on her side, propped up by her elbow as she scrolled through reports on her datapad.

Fara shimmied into a crew shirt and tucked it into her pants. Her belongings (minus the CDF uniforms) had been moved into Krystal's room a few hours after they had cleaned out the Meteo belt. Fara had been walking around in civvies since then because _dear sweet Jesus she could NOT wear that flight suit another day_. Now, two days later, a crewman had taken her measurements and brought out three appropriately-sized shipboard uniforms.

"Well, it's not every day that you get reassigned to SpecDiv - which is rare, jump from enlisted to officer - which is even _more_ rare, and then _switch freaking branches_." Fara's fingers trembled a bit as she tightened her gold-buckled black belt.

Krystal locked her datapad and set the device on her nightstand. She shifted onto her back, stretched her arms above her head, and exhaled as her shoulders loosened. "You seem nervous."

The fennec took a moment to gaze at the Star Fox insignia on her jumper's left sleeve before putting the garment on. _Nervous? Not at all; I just have to live up to_ that _. No pressure._ "Nope! Just, uh… excited!" The nervous laugh she accidentally tacked on at the end did not help her case. Fara grimaced at her reflection while slipping her jumper around her shoulders and connecting the mag strips in front. She tucked her pants into her boots and tied the laces to complete her uniform.

Krystal sighed and sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. The bullshit was so thick she could harvest the stuff in liquid form, mix it into a drink and serve it up in martini glasses.

"I can feel your aura vibrating," she said dryly. _Well shit_ , thought Fara. A very evil thought came to Krystal on how to divert Fara's attention and get her mind off of whatever was stressing her out. Acting on this sudden mischievous impulse, Krystal wormed her way into Fara's mind and decided to say hello.

 _ **Loosen up.**_

Fara screamed and tripped backwards into the (thankfully empty) shower, taking the curtains down with her. Krystal exploded with laughter. She may not have seen Fara's reaction, but she sure as hell heard it. Once she had composed herself, the Cerinian popped into the head to see if Fara was okay.

It took every shred of her mental power not to burst into hysterics at the sight. Fara, boots and all, was sprawled out in her shower with her legs hooked over the edge. The fennec's glare was probably melting the bulkhead behind Krystal, but the way she was pouting at her like a fourth grader at the same time made it unbelievably funny.

"I'm sorry," Krystal managed to speak between gasps. She was shaking with silent giggles. "I couldn't help myself."

Fara groaned in embarrassment, her dignity buried with a three-volley salute. She took Krystal's hand up, looked herself over, and was relieved to find her brand-new uniform intact.

"I want to be mad at you… but that was pretty cool." They both smirked at that, but Krystal could still sense the fennec's anxiety beneath the surface.

"Why are you so nervous?" Krystal prodded, her tone now soft and inquisitive.

Fara's posture deflated. She might as well get this off her chest. "We've got an officer meeting in _less than ten minutes_ and I don't know _anyone_. Aside from you and Slippy, all I know is Peppy's the XO, Miyu's the Chief Medical Officer, and Falco runs Security and Damage Control. And I don't even know what those jobs are called!"

"Guard Commander and DCA."

"DCA?" asked Fara in a small voice.

"Damage Control Administrator."

"See? This is what I'm talking about! I don't know anything! I-" Krystal gently pushed her arms down before she could literally rip her own hair out.

 _Krazoa, please don't let this poor girl have a heart attack._ Krystal rested her hands on the fennec's shoulders. "Fara, listen to me. This isn't a tribunal, or anything bad. This is just a meeting; nothing more, nothing less. I'm not even sure what it's about, and I'm one of the senior staff. If Fox didn't bother to tell us, it's probably a routine check-in or something just as insignificant." She didn't need to know Krystal was bluffing about her cluelessness; it was for the best. Fara didn't seem entirely convinced, so Krystal tightened her grip. "You. Will. Be. Fine."

"Okay… okay, yeah," Fara replied breathily, "Yeah. Sorry, I'm fine."

Krystal regarded her warily. "Positive?"

Fara gave the Cerinian a firm nod. "Hundred percent. Ready when you are."

000

Fara's nerves tugged at the back of her mind on the way to the conference room, but she pushed them back down out of sight. If Krystal said it would be fine, then it would be _fine_. Speaking of whom, the sapphire vixen looked more than a little fidgety when they stopped outside the conference room door.

Krystal wrung her hands. "So, I may not have been entirely honest with you."

Fara just about vomited her own heart as Krystal opened the door. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you… talking… about."

The fennec stood dumbstruck like a deer in headlights. Of all the things she expected to be on the other side of the door, _this_ was at the bottom of the list. _Great Fox_ 's conference room looked like it had been turned into a military casino. Just over two dozen people had made themselves at home, crewmembers and Marines alike. Everyone had their jumpers (or blouses, for the Marines), at least partially undone. Those who didn't have a drink in their hands, had one next to them.

A lioness raised her beer bottle to Fara. Some of the divine liquid spilled over the rim as she proclaimed, "Ayy, there she is!"

The Marine had ditched her blouse a while ago, having found the light grey tee-shirt beneath to be much more comfortable. She was resting her hip against the counter, with her arm around a Navy tiger's shoulders and a shit-eating grin on her face. _Isn't that against the rules?_ Everybody else turned around at her announcement and cheered as one, shot glasses and bottles thrust out in salute.

A wide, toothy smile broke across Fara's face. "What is this?"

"It's a wetting down, hon," replied the lioness who originally announced her presence.

"I hate to sound stupid, but what does that mean?"

The Marine extended her bottle to her right. "Private! Hold my beer!" she barked in a vicious tone that made Fara wince.

A much younger canine scurried over, took her drink, and melted back into the crowd. A good number of other Marines either stepped closer or leaned forward in their seats. Fara heard a few of them alerting their comrades to "Storytime with Staff Sergeant," in hushed tones, like children around a campfire. Fara wanted to laugh, but she wasn't sure if they were just screwing around, or actually practicing some kind of sacred cultish ritual. You never really knew with Marines; they were… unique that way.

When the lioness spread her arms with grand melodrama, Fara noticed a tattoo on the inside of her left forearm. The black ink depicted Andross with a bullet hole in his forehead. "It has been said that there was an _eighth_ day of Creation. On that day, God said _let there be Marines_ , and the Devil ran in fear." Whoops and rowdy shouts of agreement occupied the conference room. "These Cornerians were to be pure of heart, mind, body and spirit. _But_ , there lived one who exceeded them all; who continues to exceed us all today, though his body has left this physical plane. That man was Chesty Puller." The mere mention of his name made the Marines cheer again.

Fara looked around. This was leaning toward the 'cultish ritual' side of things.

"General Puller accomplished many great things in his long career, and remains the most decorated CF Marine in history. This event tonight focuses on just one of those achievements: the General Orders he wrote. I mean, he also fucked demons for kicks and seduced a dragon, but that's not important." Three of the Marines lost it. "I speak of the Eleven General Orders we all swear to uphold, regardless of branch. However there is a Twelfth General Order. Sadly it is not recognized by the Army and Air Corps. This holy tradition now falls to us, and the Navy, to uphold. The Twelfth General Order states that when an officer is promoted-"

Miyu's entrance was as subtle as artillery fire. "Knock it off, Jenny; you're creeping the hell out of her." Fara sidestepped to let her through the door, massive champagne bottle in hand. The nameless private quietly slipped the staff sergeant's beer back into her hand. "Alright, you look like you're about to blow a gasket or something. So, crash course!" The lynx clapped her hands. "You're Navy now. You're also an officer, and you got promoted. That means we're getting drunk, blowing our paychecks on gambling, and _then_ , my dearest Fara, we are all gettin' some lovin' tonight!" Another cheer reverberated off the walls.

She continued, "I know what you're gonna say. _But Miyu, isn't boning crewmates a no-no? Won't the command staff shove so much paperwork up my ass that I'll be shitting trees?_ Well, let me tell you something. I _am_ the command staff, and I believe I speak for everyone here when I say… I DON'T GIVE A…"

The last word of Miyu's sentence was drowned out as she popped the bottle one-handed and the cork shot across the room amid raucous applause. Fara yipped when she felt Miyu's other hand connect with her ass. A few people laughed, and Fara's cheeks turned redder than the Venomian flag.

A crewman warned, "Watch your six, Phoenix. She bites!"

The lioness laughed. "He's not kidding. One time we locked her in here overnight with four of the other females on the ship. When we came back…"

Miyu cut in, "Ahem. 'Scuse me. _I_ wasn't locked in with _them_. _They_ were locked in with _me_."

"Whatever. Anyway, when we checked on them in the morning, they'd torn up half the carpet in the room."

 _Half?_ "What about the other half?"

"The other half?" she tipped her beer towards Miyu, "That was the actual carpet." That one got quite a few laughs, and Fara laughed right along with them.

Miyu raised her voice over the laughter. "Come on, Jenny! You forgot the most important part!" She leveled her finger at the Marine. "You."

The lioness's smile returned, but it was far more plastic than genuine. "Uh, what… what do you mean?" she asked, nervously picking at her beer's label.

Miyu's grin turned full-on evil. "You, my lady, were more ravenous than the other three _combined_. Hell, you gave _me_ a run for my money!" All around the room, alcohol was being spit out with enough force to kill as Miyu spoke. Somewhere a glass of whiskey dropped and shattered. Meanwhile, any trace of color was draining from the Marine's face. The accused desperately swigged her beer to avoid saying anything. "You opened my eyes to _so much_. You know you had a great time; your favorite words were _I've been a bad NCO_. The things you did to me with that shock baton…"

...and the staff sergeant choked on her drink. Fara turned to Miyu as two corporals tried to prevent their squad leader from suffocating. "Don't you think that was kind of mean?" she whispered.

Miyu shrugged. "Nah. She's said _way_ more embarrassing things about me. It might seem humiliating, but either way we'll be rolling in the sheets in a couple hours here." The lynx said that last part as if she were discussing the weather.

Fara's eyes bulged. "I thought you said you have a girlfriend."

"I do. We're both free spirits, so it's cool." Her counterpart just stared. "What? Stop looking at me like that. I don't share my heart, and that's what's important."

One of the crewmen perked up and pointed at the door. "Whoo! Grizzled old bastard in the house!"

Falco emerged from his corner of isolation. "Master Chief, you made it!"

"Yeah yeah, keep your shirts on," drawled a gravelly, weathered voice.

Fara turned to see a man who looked like he'd been in the service longer than she had been alive. He set a steel case down atop the glass briefing table. The senior crewman flipped the latches and opened the case, revealing… _Poker?_ Fara laughed internally. _Oh, they are so screwed._ Her first group of victims, a mix of rank-and-file crewmembers and Marines, took their seats all too eagerly.

A wolf from the CIC looked up at her. "You down, Ensign?" He gestured to the last empty seat.

"It's _Phoenix_ ," she corrected, "And yeah. Deal me in."

000

 **23:00 Hours**

Fara had been demolishing the competition without fail for the past three hours. Now she, Peppy, Falco and Miyu were the only survivors.

Fara asked, "So why isn't Krystal playing, again?"

Falco looked at her like she had a death wish. "If you wanna tango with the highest IQ on the ship, _by thirty points_ , it's your funeral." The avian clicked his beak. "Plus she can read minds, which is still a little creepy when I'm alone. No offense."

Krystal drew a sip from her wine. "You never play against me because I don't gamble. If I did, I would leave you in tears. Oh, and don't worry: there's nothing in your juvenile mind worth looking at."

Mentally, she listed _your hand is atrocious, Peppy has been on death's door for the past two rounds, and Fara and Miyu are freakishly even._ Reading everyone's strategies straight out of their brains provided a certain omniscience, but she wanted to see this game play out on the table. The Cerinian suppressed her mental powers and sauntered up to the playing field.

"Good point. Raise you five and I'll take two." Fara tossed two cards face down onto the table and pushed her chips into the growing pile at the center.

Falco dealt two cards her way before setting the stack down and looking at his own cards. "So Fara, you seen Fox at all today?"

Fara ran her eyes over her cards and quirked an eyebrow. "Not since breakfast. Peppy, have you seen him?"

"Nope."

Fara looked across the table at Miyu. The lynx shook her head. "That's a negative. How 'bout you, Falco?"

The avian grimaced at his hand. "Don't look at me. I've been parked in the armory all day."

He folded, leaving Fara, Peppy and Miyu as the final three. Krystal noted the information about Fox with mild concern. He wasn't the type to just shut himself in for an entire day.

"I'll see your raise and add ten," Miyu continued the game with a smirk.

But then she had been smirking since the start of the round. Fara had figured something out early on: Miyu loved to bluff. She was good at it, too, so it was difficult to tell if she really did have a good hand, or if she was bullshitting. As the so-called 'newbie,' Fara was a wildcard, and she had a few tricks of her own that Miyu didn't know how to spot yet.

Miyu waved a paw. "Yoo-hoo, Fara? You in or what?"

Fara snapped her head back to the game. She had purposefully zoned out, or at least made it look like she had. In reality, she was paying close attention and lulling her opponents into a false sense of security. She hoped to use that to her advantage and bait Miyu into making an over-aggressive move.

"Sorry. What are we up to?"

"Peppy just upped the ante by another ten."

Fara analyzed her cards. She decided to tear a page from Miyu's book. "Really? Well, I see both of you and raise it fifty." Marines and crewmembers whispered between each other. They were interested before, but now they were attentive.

"Too rich for me," declared Peppy as he folded. He hadn't been doing well all night, so he thought it best to throw in the towel.

"And then there were two," said Fara.

Miyu nodded slowly. "And then there were two," she echoed.

Fara looked over her cards at her final opponent. "So what's it going to be, Zephyr?" she challenged, using the lynx's call sign.

"Just because you made ace while dodging asteroids, and bullseyed a missile right out from underneath an Invader, doesn't mean you intimidate me. Raise you a hundred." Miyu tossed a hefty amount into the pot. A couple of impressed whistles served as the only soundtrack to their standoff.

"Oh, so you think you've got me pinned now, do you?" She paused with a finger touching her chin. "I see that and raise you… _everything_." The fennec shoved her entire stack into the middle of the table.

The murmurs picked up and Falco leaned forward. "It's about time this game got interesting," he commented. The avian looked between the two players to see if he could judge who had the better hand. Miyu's expression never wavered, so he figured she really did have a good hand.

Miyu pushed her own stack into the center. "Call." She made it sound like she was ordering an execution. Fara's eyebrow lifted but she didn't look upset, leading Falco to believe her cards were good as well.

The lynx displayed her cards. "Full House, Aces over Queens. Read 'em and weep, Baroness." Miyu snickered and started reaching for the pile.

Fara whistled and nodded. "Credit where it's due; that was a great hand. But…" she trailed off, grin back in full force. Her counterpart froze, clearly afraid for the first time tonight. Fara laid her cards down at a maddeningly slow pace, one by one. Miyu's expression crumbled with each card.

"Straight. Flush." The fennec radiated smugness as she reached for the pot.

"Son of a bitch…" Miyu chuckled once the shock wore off.

Nobody wanted to take on Fara after that round, so the poker set was put away. The booze still flowed, but the night wound down over the next half hour. The clock was knocking on midnight when the last of the partygoers retired.

"That was fun," Fara proclaimed as she removed and hung up her jumper.

"I agree; I needed that." Krystal stepped out of her boots and set them on the other side of the dresser.

"Not to mention my bank account just got a couple _thousand_ creds fatter," she remarked with a dopey grin. _Just like Fox._ Krystal blinked rapidly and shook her head.

"Hey, you alright? You were zoning out on me for a sec."

Krystal smiled, but it was just as plastic as that staff sergeant's when Miyu had called her out. "It's nothing."

Fara tilted her head. "You sure? You're looking a little out of it."

"Really, it's nothing. Just… I'm just tired. That's all."

The fennec sighed, deciding to let it drop. "Alright. Get some sleep, then."

Krystal just barely managed to stop herself from saying she sounded just like Fox.

 _Now who's bullshitting, Zonoc?_

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** ...and that's a wrap. I don't have much to talk about on this one; it was a nice 'filler' chapter before we head off to Fichina. As for IRL stuff… uh, a squadron of birds shat all over my car? Okay on a more serious note: if any of my readers in the Pacific Northwest are paintball fans, you might have seen me on the weekend of May 5-7, if you were at Supergame 50. I would have been the guy wearing forest BDUs, a matching tactical vest, OD green special ops gloves, green and black mask, with an M16 and smoke grenades. No? Uh, let's see, blond fade cut? Whiter than the inside of a goddamned Twinkie? Still nothing?

Huh. I guess I'm not uber-popular. Who knew?

Alright, I'll shut up. See y'all next time, and don't forget to drop a review!

Cheers!

 _SergeantLawson_

P.S.: I was reading through some of my old AN's. I cannot believe at one point I said, "Nobody wants to read 5K-word chapters anyway." Oh sweet Mary, one-year-ago me is such a dumbass compared to present-day me.

P.P.S.: Two favs and three follows in one day? I just… wow. Thank you all so much for your support.

 **Trivia**

The Cornerian military is heavily inspired by the United States Armed Forces. The Venomian military is inspired by the forces of Nazi Germany (Wehrmacht, Schutzstaffel, Kriegsmarine, etc). This also applies to uniform design.

When I say "beam laser" and "pulse laser" there IS a difference. Here's the short version: pulse lasers are better. Beam laser weapons are commonly referred to as simply "laser" weapons (laser rifle). Pulse laser weapons are commonly referred to as "pulse" weapons (pulse rifle). I plan on going over, in detail, _all_ of this universe's current weapon categories at some point in the Fichina arc.

 **CODEX**

 **GP-98 Beam Laser Rifle:** Before the AMR-110, the GP-98 had been standard issue across the board for decades. It was designed by the Keller Arms Corporation, the Cornerian military's primary laser weapons manufacturer. The GP-98 is lighter than its predecessor, which makes it easier to handle over long periods of time. As with all modern weapons, the GP-98 can accept a wide range of attachments such as foregrips, firing adaptors and various optics. The Marine Corps and some units from other branches have moved on to coil-assisted magnetic weaponry like the AMR-110, but beam laser weapons will remain in service for some time yet.

 **M5 Lancer IFV:** There had been multiple attempts in the past at creating vehicles to fill multiple roles, but the M5 Lancer was the first major success. It would replace both the BN-2 Victory infantry fighting vehicle and the VT-30 armored personnel carrier. The Lancer's armor is thickest at the front and at the sides of the troop bay. Sloped plating at all points around the vehicle is designed to deflect incoming fire, rather than absorb impact force directly. The IFV's underside utilizes the "Double-V" hull design against antivehicle mines, which shares the aim of deflection over absorption. The M5 Lancer is armed with two pintle-mounted heavy magnetic machine guns at the front, as well as a coaxial light anti-aircraft cannon on the roof, the latter of which is remotely operated by a soldier in the rear bay.

 **Federation Joint Command Center:** The nerve center of CF military operations. The Army, Marine Corps, Navy, Air Corps and Defense Force all operate out of this building. Some have called it dangerously centralized; the truth of that statement is debatable. Even if an attack were to be mounted on the FJCC, it is more defensible than an underground bunker and designed to withstand anything up to _and including_ direct impact from nuclear weapons.

 **Military Criminal Investigative Department (MCID):** A subsection of military intelligence focused on internal security and criminal investigations. MCID agents handle everything from murder cases to drugs dealt on bases and ships to rooting out spies. The department maintains authority over all four branches and the CDF, and _no one_ \- not even the highest generals - is above their rule: the rule of law. In essence, the MCID is to the military what the FBI is to civilians. _*The MCID is based off of the U.S. NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service), except its jurisdiction blankets the entire military._

 **Ground Vehicle Categories:** Infantry Fighting Vehicles (IFV) are mobile and versatile assault vehicles designed to combat infantry and light mechanized forces. Armored Personnel Carriers (APC) transport ground troops across the battlefield. Walking sucks when your sorry ass is dragging eighty-plus pounds of gear, and why risk getting domed by a sniper when you could ride in style behind five solid inches of depleted uranium and Titanium alloys?  Tanks are… well, they're freaking tanks. Artillery and Anti-Air Armaments (AAA or "Triple A) should both be just as obvious.

 **Aerospace Small Craft Categories:** Multirole craft like the AL5 Bottlenose are designed around versatility. These craft can secure the skies just as easily as they can take out ground targets. Their armor is thick enough to survive a glancing missile blow, though a direct hit will usually spell their doom. This is the most common type of aerospace small craft. Interceptors are demons of sky and space: no craft is more suited to erasing enemy air power. They are high-speed glass cannons: interceptors can dish out hell, but they struggle taking punishment in return. Bombers are large and lumbering. They specialize in destroying ground targets from high altitude. Strike Fighters are most like multirole craft, but they focus almost exclusively on eliminating hardened targets like heavily armored ground vehicles and warships.


	10. Arctic Warfare (Fichina)

Chapter 10: Arctic Warfare (Fichina)

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Before anyone gets confused, Cerinia and its people are still alive and kicking. I hadn't said anything before because it would be awkward and obvious if someone brought it up in-character. Imagine your friend running up to you and shouting, "Holy shit, America's still a thing!" I'd probably drag him to the nearest psych ward.

000

"Fox, they're right behind us!" Krystal's heart pounded as she split her attention between looking at her sensor display, keeping pace behind Fox, and staying between the icy canyon walls.

The two disturbingly Arwing-like black and red ships continued taking potshots at them from above.

Fox's reply was just as desperate. "Stay with me! We'll get through this!" A dreaded two-tone alarm proved him wrong. "They've got us locked! Dive!"

"There's nowhere to go! Fox-"

Krystal screamed, and the sound of it froze the orange vulpine's blood. Fox looked back in time to see her Arwing disappear in an explosion of snow and fire.

" _NO!"_ was all he could say before the jagged ice wall sheared off his right wing. The vulpine lost control over his craft as its course degraded into a roll. Sparks and smoke billowed out of the wing mount, and a dozen alarms blared at the helpless pilot. Fox brought a hand up in reflex as the ground rose up to meet him.

When the Arwing torpedoed into a snowbank at the bottom of the canyon, there was no explosion to mark its pilot's demise.

000

Krystal gasped and sat upright, digging her claws into the mattress. The Cerinian's heartbeat pounded in her ears as she looked around in wide-eyed panic. First she recognized her bed, and then her nightstand. Each detail was a puzzle piece clicking into place. Hearing Fara's soft breathing from above completed the picture of her room aboard _Great Fox_ , where everything was fine and no one died.

The vixen inhaled deeply to clear her mind and lower her heart rate. It wasn't perfect, but it helped. _Everything is fine. No one died. Fox is fine._ Krystal repeated those three lines over and over until she believed them.

She closed her eyes for a moment to let the adrenaline flush out of her system. Only after a full minute did she feel steady enough to contemplate what to do next. The clock on her nightstand displayed _01:40_ (and below that, the date of _21-07_ ), but going back to sleep was out of the question after the night terror she had just experienced.

And just what was said night terror all about? The dream had come from nowhere, as nightmares often do. Nightmares were far less common for Cerinians, so Krystal wanted to attribute her reactions to that same rarity. _I don't have nightmares all that often, so I overreacted,_ she told herself.

But she couldn't make herself believe it, not when her own thoughts troubled her so deeply. Krystal would have called herself paranoid, if not for another, even more disturbing point. She _remembered_ the nightmare. That also could have been blamed on Cerinians' increased dream retention, but that conclusion left too large a question mark. Krystal hadn't just retained "more" of it. She could recite every second in vivid detail if asked, right down to the scent of burning glass and plastic as her Arwing's canopy melted.

And that scared her.

Cerinian mental powers were no secret to the galaxy; everyone at least knew of their telepathy. Most people had heard stories of other abilities. A handful actually dedicated time and assets to research these accounts. Fewer still - even among Cerinians - could distinguish truth from legend.

Krystal wanted to think nothing of her nightmare, but she could not just let it roll off her back. Admitting she lacked answers was frustrating, but it was the unfortunate reality of the situation. She would have sought spiritual guidance, but they were nowhere near Cerinian-Kathari space. No priest or priestess was around to confide in, and the Disciples had no reason to be in Cornerian territory. Written guidance was the next best thing, but it wasn't as if _Great Fox_ had a library full of the Ancient Texts for Krystal to leaf through.

The vixen deliberated like this for several minutes, before she released a protracted sigh. This was going nowhere. Though she hated the idea of doing nothing, a wait-and-see approach was the best option for now.

000

 **July 21, 02:00 Hours**

 **Unidentified Vessel, Location Unknown**

Far away from Krystal and her internal debates, a man contemplated his plot for the Lylat System. The canine dragged off of his cigarette, and then plucked it from his mouth between two fingers. He blew the smoke to the side so it wouldn't cloud his vision. The large window in front of him offered quite a view of the universe: a few planets here, a yellow and purple nebula there, and a thousand white pinpricks behind a hundred other colorful entities. The brightest celestial bodies were reflected in the glossy black floor. He found such backgrounds amicable to his thought process. Looking upon the creators' canvas - and other grand imagery - netted him a sense of purpose. These things served as reminders of how high his sights were set, or simply soothed the mind, depending on the situation.

The rectangular room around him was featureless; its purpose necessitated hardly anything. His silver-bodied black leather chair, tethered at the chamber's exact center, was one of two exceptions. A circular holoprojector in front of the chair, following the typical design of a silver pad with a blue projection ring a few centimeters inside the border, was the other. The roof matched the floor's gloss-black tiling. The wall-spanning window allowed solar bodies to provide lighting. A simple grey automatic door in the wall behind the seat completed the sparse ensemble.

Reinhardt Shears spoke aloud, despite being the room's sole occupant. "I believe you overestimate their abilities."

A response floated out of the speakers in his chair, but the holoprojector remained deactivated - Shears did not yet trust in face to face conversation. The voice was low but not deep; smooth but not silky. Its accent was posh, but far from haughty. The man's words carried an undertone that managed to be at once calming and unsettling. _"On the contrary, Director. Wars can be won or lost through the smallest of battles. In the past, entire nations have been defeated with a single shot. This logic remains valid here."_

Shears found it difficult to put a single descriptor on the voice despite his wide vocabulary. It seemed to articulate several tones at once, but that was likely a trick of the mind. Each phrase was carefully orchestrated, and all of those illusive differing speech patterns culminated into a single voice of confidence, discipline, and authority. This man was a fine speaker, and from the reports Shears had read, his leadership skills were no different. Many of the Venomian Republic's military officers led through intimidation and force; a mindset befitting their doctrine of absolute obedience and indoctrinated loyalty. There were flaws in such a mindset, inflexibility chief among them. If the common Venomian soldier was discouraged from independent thinking, how reliable would they be in dynamic, and especially decaying scenarios?

This man followed a different style of command. If a subordinate officer had an alternate strategy in mind, he encouraged them to voice their thoughts. This prevented vacuum decision-making, and had saved many a soldier throughout his career. He valued the lives of those under his command, from the most senior officers down to the lowliest of maintenance personnel. Though the mission always came first, he never viewed anyone as expendable. In his eyes, they were not tools to be used and discarded. Rather, their lives had been placed under his care, and he took it upon himself to ensure their safe return. His servicemembers respected him deeply because of this, and their resultant trust in each other was just one reason why his forces were so effective. Some of the more by-the-book Venomian military leaders found points of criticism in the men and women under his charge, concerned that they fought more for him than the glory of the Republic. Shears had deigned to surveil that particular matter: if the man's colleagues moved to strip his command, Reinhardt would be able to intervene prematurely.

These thoughts ran in the back of the Director's mind; he made a point of retaining the most information possible on his associates. Normally, Shears would be concerned with someone - including the man on the other end - tracing the call to his location. That was no longer possible with the myriad of relays, ghost signals and other assorted electronic diversions at his disposal. They could speak freely, without fear of unwanted listeners.

Shears turned a palm up, though the other animal couldn't see it. "Was that your goal on Corneria? Defeat the Federation with a single blow?"

The voice hummed. _"That was my superior's goal, yes. I planned that operation… though I did not approve of it."_

The Director cocked an eyebrow. "How is that?"

" _The Chancellor ordered a strike against Corneria. He believed he could end the conflict before it began. I expressed my misgivings, but the Chancellor was quite… insistent."_ A pause as he took a breath. _"Even with all of my forces, the endeavor would still have been doomed to failure. But I was given my orders, and I followed them despite my personal feelings on the matter."_ Another breath. _"As we both know, the strike force was lost. However, the intelligence gleaned from the effort is invaluable to me."_ Another pause. _"Especially the data related to the Meteo belt and the Cornerian orbital grid."_

Shears tucked a thumb against his chin. "You executed your orders on paper, but used the operational assets to achieve a more rewarding objective." _Clever._

" _That is correct, but we digress from the topic at hand."_

Shears nodded to himself. "Very well. Why does Star Fox concern you? They are exemplary pilots, but they are just one unit. They can only do so much, even with their hero status."

" _My concerns lie in the last portion of your statement, Director: their 'hero status.' Morale can have greater effects than fleets. These Cornerians are some of the best your military has to offer. Even so, their combat prowess does not concern me as much as what they represent. They are a symbol of Cornerian spirit, and that alone is_ not _to be underestimated."_

"I don't share the gravity of your concerns, but you make a good point. Though I admit I am unsure what you need from me. I have already given you all of the files we have on them, as well as relevant secondary documents."

" _No, nothing of that sort. Their ship will be near Fichina for the next month, correct?"_

Shears blinked. That was something he _hadn't_ divulged, and Star Fox's position was classified at all times. "Yes." _But how did you know?_ Shears did not bother asking; he suspected the response would be cryptic and unhelpful.

The Director cleared his throat. "What do you need?"

" _I plan to ambush this 'Star Fox' in the coming weeks. To accomplish this, it is wise to… how do your people say it? Fight fire with fire."_ The animal paused for just long enough to make him uncomfortable.

" _I need four of your Arwing starfighters."_

Shears' eyes widened.

000

 **July 24, 21:42 Hours (Three Days Later)**

 _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **, Lower Decks**

 **Passive Patrol Operations**

The days since the wetting down had treated Fara well. She had come out of her shell following the party, taking time to talk with the crew rather than hermetically seal herself into she and Krystal's quarters.

Fara had also been touring the ship in her off hours. Well, her self-guided "touring" was more akin to aimless wandering, but it was still helpful. Battleships were already large, but this one's reduced crew size made things seem even further apart. Still, a mental layout of _Great Fox_ was gradually piecing itself together from her nomadic travels.

The fennec's roaming netted a plethora of interaction opportunities as well. She took up whatever odd jobs they had lying around: adjusting things with tools; delivering PDAs to supervisors; fine-tuning weapon sights… all were bite-sized learning experiences. They proved instrumental in narrowing down her desired job.

So far, anything related to Medical was off the table. There was something about Miyu she didn't trust, at least not when she would have mood-altering drugs and Fara's coffee at arm's length.

The pilot came out of her thoughts just in time to avoid waltzing face-first into a pipe. Fara blinked at the offending metal object and asked the gods why it had to be _right there_. This ship's retrofits popped up in the weirdest places, especially down here in Engineering. Fara supposed she would get used to it eventually.

Now that she looked around, Fara didn't think she was in Engineering anymore. First, she had seen all of three people so far on this deck. _Great Fox_ did have a reduced crew complement, but leaving such a vital department so understaffed would be foolish. Second, large metal crates were stacked everywhere, and there was much more space on this deck than those above. Third, a large sign that read "Cargo Bay" was bolted to the wall on her right.

Fara rolled her eyes, and would have continued on had a few choice sounds not reached her ears. Grunting, impacts, scuffling… there was a fight going on, and it was close. The notion of a fight breaking out on this ship made zero sense from what Fara had seen, but she still felt compelled to investigate.

The fennec pinned a direction with her ears. Once she had a solid bearing, she set off winding her way between stacks of supply crates. Each one was painted regulation grey, with two blue stripes running top to bottom and a Federation seal in the middle. Fara briefly wondered if she would find some lost crewman's remains in this maze.

She rounded yet another corner and finally came upon the source of the noise: two soldiers were positively beating the shit out of each other. One was a German shepherd in Marine combat trousers and a grey tee-shirt; the other was a lioness in matching trousers and a black sports bra. The fennec made half a move to intervene, but then she saw that their stances were disciplined, and there was no real venom in their strikes. This wasn't a brawl; it was a sparring match for the ages.

Fara had practiced martial arts in high school, but following the pair's moves proved hopeless. It was a mess of feet, elbows and knuckles driving into weak spots and pressure points. The German shepherd sent the bottom of his foot into the lioness' chest, knocking her flat on her back. She rolled away from a downward-hurtling fist and somehow used nothing but her left hand to twist herself back onto her feet. The other Marine was still hunched over from his attempted knockout punch. Wasting no time, the woman jumped up and launched a spinning hook kick into the side of his head.

Both Marines stepped back and righted themselves. The pair of warriors raised their fists, solidified their footing, and then engaged each other in a battle of knuckles and fingertips. Several of the impacts made Fara wince; they looked absolutely brutal, and she was sure she heard a rib crack at some point. Just as quickly as the fighting had started, it stopped. Fara was confused at first, but realization dawned when she realized both Marines had knife hands leveled at the side of each other's necks.

 _Twin kill shots. They're evenly matched._

The two Marines lowered their arms into a handshake. The lioness turned towards Fara. "Looks like we've drawn a crowd." Now that they weren't moving like blurs, Fara recognized the lioness from her wetting down ceremony.

The beast of a canine followed her gaze. "Well whaddaya know, the new pilot found her way down here. It's, uh…" He snapped his fingers twice. "Phoenix, right?"

"Right," Fara nodded, "That was one hell of a fight."

"Eh. Bruises heal and fractures build character," the lioness retorted with a smirk. "Staff Sergeant Jennifer Lindholm, by the way." Fara nodded again; they had never been properly introduced at the party. "This here is Major Norman Carver."

The canine crossed his massive arms. "I'm the commander of _Great Fox_ 's Marine detachment. It's not a hard job… usually." The last word came with a pointed look at the lioness.

Lindholm feigned offense. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Carver rolled his eyes. "Right. And I'm sure the call I got from the MPs last time you were on leave was a big misunderstanding." He motioned to Fara. "Come on over, Phoenix; I'll give you the tour."

"The tour?" she queried with an arched eyebrow. She saw nothing other than the two Marines in this outcropping of supply crates.

Lindholm sauntered over to one of the crates. The lioness set her paw on the release latch, pulled it up and then rotated it to the left. Another pull opened the container… with nothing inside of it. Fara's confusion turned to curiosity as Lindholm walked into the empty crate and banged her fist against the opposite hatch. To her surprise, someone pulled it open from the outside. Lindholm and Carver stepped through, the former beckoning Fara to come along with them.

What she found on the other side looked almost like a field camp. The rectangular open space was bordered by stacks of the same grey, blue insignia-stamped containers. Six of the metal containers that made up the right "wall" were missing their doors on this side. From the olive drab fold-out cots set up inside each one, Fara assumed the shipping crates had been repurposed into small living quarters. Aside from the bedding, each "room" had a sleeping bag and footlocker. Other than that, each of the improvised quarters had been personalized to a small extent by their respective owners.

A Marine was sprawled out on the furthest cot, holding up a _FurFur's Delights_ adult magazine for shade and some quality reading material. Two other Marines sat on opposite sides of a table, playing some kind of card game. They used footlockers - also olive drab - as makeshift chairs. There were a few other things scattered around the area, but the workbench on the left side caught Fara's attention. A Marine-issue AMR-110 magnetic assault rifle was disassembled on its surface, its owner meticulously cleaning and inspecting each part. A weapon maintenance kit lay open near the rifle, as well as a small bottle of oil with a swab balanced atop the neck. The workbench's tool rack, originally intended for common mechanic's tools, had been completely repurposed. Instead of socket wrenches, screwdrivers and drills, the hooks and pegs held scopes and sights, barrel attachments like suppressors and flash hiders, and a few side-mount tactical gadgets like rangefinders and laser/light modules. A six-slot weapon rack was set up to the right of the workbench. One of the slots was empty for obvious reasons, but two others each held another AMR, for a total of three assault rifles. Two more slots gripped S-4 "Buzzard" magnetic submachine guns, and the final rack played home to an ASG-10 semi-automatic assault shotgun.

"Damn," muttered Fara, more impressed than anything else. She thought she'd seen it all, but here was a Marine field camp _on a battleship_ staring her right in the face.

Lindholm snickered, while Major Carver announced, "Gentlemen, we have a guest." All four heads turned in their direction. "You all know who Ensign Phoenix is already, so let's just run through introductions from our end." Carver pointed at the bobcat on the cot. "That yiff junkie is Sergeant McTavish."

"Yo." The bobcat dropped half of the magazine to give them a two-fingered salute.

Carver gestured to the pair of Marines at the table. "The pitbull on the right is Lieutenant Smithers - we call him Smitty. Pretty-and-pink on the…"

"Hey, up yours!" protested the rosy feline, whipping her head around so fast that a lock of blonde hair fell down into her eyes.

"...on the left is Captain Sheila Vincent. They think they're card sharks. Finally, the gun nut at the workbench is Gunnery Sergeant Slavic. And this," Carver swept an arm to encompass the whole scene. "Is our little spot to relax on our downtime. What do you think?"

"It's pretty impressive. I'm surprised they let you set all this up on board a ship."

Lindholm sucked on her teeth. "Eh… technically, they don't."

Fara turned towards her and raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The yiff junkie, Sergeant McTavish, spoke up from his cot. "It means the higher-ups don't know our humble abode exists."

That took Fara by surprise, even by Star Fox standards. "What about McCloud?"

Lindholm took over. "Nah, the CO doesn't care. We're talking about the Admiralty. Us Marines may be ground-pounders, but we report to the Navy's chain of command while we're with SpecDiv. It's no secret McCloud commands in his own way, and most of the gold stars are fine with it - we get shit done with the best of 'em, so they turn a blind eye when we bend some regs. But there's a few people with sticks up their asses and bones to pick. You know the type; they care about following rules more than getting the job done."

Fara grimaced. "Yeah, I know a few myself."

"Yeah, well take that bad attitude and then put a lot of power behind it. They _hate_ how much autonomy we have; I mean like they're personally insulted by our existence. Every once in awhile, one of 'em will drop by for an _inspection_." The lioness put air quotes around that last word. "That's why we have this all set up behind an empty shipping crate."

Fara whistled. "Yeesh. How bad does it get?"

Lindholm actually sounded hesitant. "The last one was about six months ago… it got ugly. This asshole commodore - that's between captain and admiral, by the way. The guy had a thing for harassing our department heads. Word eventually got up to McCloud, and he called our esteemed guest up to the bridge."

"And then?" Fara was more than a little interested at this point. She hadn't been acquainted with Fox or his crew for very long, but from what she did know of them, this was shaping up to be a very good story.

The lioness grinned wickedly. "Oh-ho, I was right there when it went down. And let me tell you, it was a sight to behold…"

 _The scrawny, literal rat stormed onto the bridge with all the discipline of a tornado. "Commander, I demand you give me an open comm channel! I will speak with Fleet Admiral Marcus at once!"_

 _The bridge crew's heads collectively pivoted for a moment before the assorted spacers went back to work. Fox, whom had been gazing out to the stars, turned around with no sense of urgency. "Commodore, good. I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."_

 _The man spluttered. "You… you watch your tongue! I am a Commodore of the Cornerian Federation Navy and you will address me as such!"_

 _Fox smiled all too warmly. "Of course, sir. How do you like my ship?"_

" _How do I like… do not ignore me, Commander! I gave you a direct order for an open channel to Fleet Command!"_

" _I'm sorry, sir, but that would be impossible. We are at EMCON Alpha One - radio silence. As I'm sure you are aware, that is standard protocol for lone special operations ships. And we all know how important the rules are." The vulpine spoke slowly and calmly, with just a bit of condescension._

" _Hmph. Then I will leave immediately."_

 _Fox shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."_

 _A vein bulged in the commodore's forehead. "You can't allow-"_

 _Fox raised a finger. "One moment." Steam could very well have been jetting from the rodent's ears as Fox pressed two fingers against his earpiece. "CIC, Bridge."_

" _ **Bridge, CIC."**_

" _TAO, please report to the bridge."_

" _ **Aye, sir. I'm on my way."**_

" _Very well." Fox released his earpiece. "As I was saying: I can't allow your shuttle to leave because, unlike our own, it is not properly equipped to mask our position after you clear our hangar - also protocol."_

 _The rat stepped forward and jabbed a bony finger at Fox's nose. "Then I shall requisition one of your shuttles!"_

" _Also impossible. Those assets belong to CF Navy SpecDiv, and by extension, me - not you. With all due respect. Sir." Fox took a deep breath. "Now, since we're all stuck here, allow me to ask again: how do you like my ship?"_

 _A snort accompanied the response. "Oh, do not get me started on_ _ **that**_ _, Commander! Undermanned departments, non-regulation modifications, light duty shifts, and oh the informality! But most of all, your command staff disturbs me!"_

 _Every single crewman immediately swiveled towards the verbal exchange, while Krystal quietly stepped onto the bridge behind all the action. She alone noticed Fox's eyebrow twitch. Never breaking eye contact with the commodore, Fox set his datapad atop a nearby workstation. The workstation was occupied, but its attending crewman said nothing._

" _Please enlighten me, Commodore," said Fox in a lower tone as he stepped forward, "What_ _ **exactly**_ _did you mean when you said my command staff disturbs you?"_

" _First, the sheer nonchalance and utter disrespect of your Guard Commander! That avian, the…"_

 _Fox cut in, now with a more severe edge to his speech. "That avian's_ _ **name**_ _, sir, is Commander Lombardi."_

" _I do not care for names! Either way, your TAO concerns me far more!"_

 _Behind the commodore, Fox noticed Krystal narrow her eyes and bare a few teeth._

" _Elucidate for me, Commodore. I insist." To everyone except the rodent in front of him, Great Fox's CO was starting to look dangerous._

" _She is a Cerinian! How one of her kind was granted such a position is beyond me! Do you even know what she is capable of with those abnormal powers? I doubt any sane-"_

" _ **Commodore!"**_ _Fox had only raised his voice by a small margin, but the weight his tone carried silenced the other animal immediately. To the rat, McCloud now appeared significantly larger than he had a minute ago. "I have had quite enough! First, you demanded boarding permission despite full knowledge of our EMCON status - and in doing so, endangered my entire crew! I decided to look past that_ _ **solely**_ _because I have to play nice with people like you. But ever since you landed in my hangar bay, it has been insult after insult!"_

" _How dare you speak this way to-"_

" _Still talking." Fox growled from the back of his throat. "You have done nothing but insult my crew since you landed, and I have_ _ **never**_ _seen such disrespect from_ _ **anyone**_ _in a Federation uniform! And let's not forget that two months ago, this undisciplined, lazy, informal crew saved your entire flotilla! You were too blind to see a pirate fleet hiding in a gas cloud just two thousand kilometers away, and before you could even catch up with reality, you had gotten everyone aboard three of your ships_ _ **killed**_ _! How many of their families cried themselves to sleep because of your incompetence? Do you even remember their names?! Oh, wait - in your_ _ **exact**_ _words: you do not care for names."_

 _The rat glared up at McCloud. "You do not understand the complications of leading a battle group! In that position, we do not have time for-"_

 _Fox growled again and bared his canines. "Complications? No, this isn't complicated. In fact, it's_ _ **remarkably**_ _simple! I could recite all five hundred and seventy-nine crew aboard this ship, because everybody under my command is far more than just a name. They are individuals. Take Lieutenant Michael Vance, for example. The reason I don't have five hundred and eighty people here, is because he was murdered while on leave. He was on the way home from the airport to see his wife and two daughters… a guy with a gun took his life, for the paper in his wallet. My TAO, that Cerinian you spoke so lowly of, held a service in the hangar bay to honor his memory. She's the closest thing we have to a chaplain on this lazy, undisciplined ship - and she gave us closure in ways I never could."_

 _Fox moved his hands behind his back. "One of us will lose our stripes by the end of the day, so I will be blunt: you are everything I despise as an officer. I would demand an apology, but I know you wouldn't mean it. Therefore, I will save time and make things_ _ **very**_ _easy." The vulpine paused before delivering his final statement. "Clear yourself from my bridge, Commodore. With all due respect… I have things to do."_

 _With that, Fox turned back towards the frontal viewports._

 _The Commodore made the grievous mistake of grabbing Fox by the shoulder. "You will not-"_

 _McCloud whirled around and sent an elbow into the side of the rodent's head. When the officer tried to snag a handful of his shirt, Fox snapped his forearm up to break the connection. With the other man's balance lost, Fox shoved him away. The commodore backpedaled straight into Krystal, and made yet another grave error of trying to throw her off of him. Krystal wasted no time reversing his backward momentum by wrenching him to the deck face-first. She landed on top of him with her right knee digging into his neck, her left in the middle of his back, and both of his hands clasped firmly in one of her own._

 _One of the crewmen ran for the general announcement system, popped open the comm box and grabbed the radio. "Security to the Bridge, Security to the Bridge."_

 _With the rodent down on the floor, Fox slowly moved towards him as he recited criminal charges. "For two months ago: gross dereliction of duty. For today: wilful endangerment of a ship at EMCON. Multiple counts of harassment. Wilful interference with official military business and vital duties. Multiple counts of misuse of rank and status for personal gain. Disregard for chain of command. Not to mention all the other charges we can dredge up for your comments on my command staff. And now - two counts of assault on military personnel."_

 _Twenty seconds later, three security personnel jogged onto the bridge, kitted out with holstered laser pistols, stun guns, cuffs, light ballistic vests and eight-point duty caps._

 _Fox rested his hands at the small of his back. "Staff Lieutenant Zonoc, place this man under arrest."_

" _Gladly." Krystal took an offered set of cuffs from a security crewman and detained the rogue commodore. Once she was certain he couldn't slip the cuffs, the vixen forcefully dragged him up off the floor and to his feet._

 _The rat couldn't point (such a shame; it seemed like his favorite activity) but he decided to keep shouting regardless. "I will have your head for this, McCloud! Mark my words- agckh!" He squirmed and yelped as a series of metallic clicks resonated through the bridge._

" _Sorry," Krystal chimed with a big, friendly smile, "Are these too tight?"_

 _The sapphire vixen kicked him in the ankles, and they filed out of the bridge with the other security personnel._

 _After the dust had settled, the entire bridge crew saluted Fox as one before returning to their duties._

"Damn," Fara whistled, "That's one hell of a story."

One of the Marines piped up. "It's true. Every word."

The lioness casually mentioned, "McCloud and Zonoc have been looking out for each other ever since. Kinda cute, honestly."

Major Carver rolled his eyes. "Lindholm…"

"What? I'm just saying."

Fara asked, "So what ended up happening to the guy?"

Jennifer whistled. "The court-martial tore him, like, _three_ new assholes. Last I heard, they busted him all the way down to Staff Lieutenant and dropped him off at some backwater outpost on Katina." She snorted. "It's a shame, though. I wanted to see him get carted off to the orbital supermax prison. I'll bet a gang of jacked up dudes woulda turned him into a pincushion for their di-"

Carver wouldn't let her fantasies get off the ground. "Anyway… what actually brought you to us, Phoenix?"

Fara reached up to rub at the back of her neck. "Uh… I was kind of just wandering aimlessly and hoping I'd run into something interesting. I heard two people beating the crap out of each other and figured I'd take a look."

Gunnery Sergeant Slavic, the gun nut, chuckled from his spot at the workbench. "That sounds about right for those two. Who won, by the way?"

Jennifer purred almost seductively, "Yeah, Phoenix," The lioness snaked an arm around her shoulders, "Who won?"

Fara gulped.

To the fennec's endless thanks, Major Carver answered her many frantic prayers. "Neither one of us. If we had been using knives, we would've decapitated each other."

Jennifer dropped her arm, but not before letting her fingertips glide across Fara's shoulder blades.

Fara looked down and aggressively straightened her sleeves for no apparent reason - they had been perfectly aligned beforehand. Just as she was reaching to fiddle with some other piece of her black Navy uniform, she stopped. "You know what? I have an idea."

Major Carver saw the gears turning in her head. "Shoot," he prompted with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm new to the Navy, so I have to pick a new MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) - you know, my job. Still working on that. But, I'm also one one of our primary operators. That means I have to pick a combat specialty, too."

The assembled Marines seemed to like where this was going, so Fara continued. "All of the primaries had their Arwings designed to fill specific roles, so we can tackle pretty much anything that comes our way."

Gunnery Sergeant Slavic set down the rifle barrel he'd been cleaning. "Yeah; it ain't every day you strap two railguns to a fighter and bring down a carrier in one shot."

Fara nodded. "Right. And as far as I can tell, the Arwings match the boots. The CO's fighter is the most adaptable out of the squadron - twin hyper lasers, charged shots and nova bombs. I guess you could call him the mainstay. Same goes for the ground: from what I know, he goes in with a GP-98 laser carbine and packs most of the grenades. Lombardi seems to like his marksman's rifle, and he usually fits longer-ranged weaponry to his Arwing. Just like you said, Slavic, Zonoc is our heavy in the air. Seems like she's our squad gunner on the ground, too."

Lindholm affirmed, "Yeah, I see her packin' a three-fifty every now and then." The M350 SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon) was the Cornerian military's newest magnetic light machine gun. "How does she even carry that thing around? It's a heavy sumbitch. I mean, the magazine - just the box mag - is the size of her _head_."

Fara shrugged. "Beats me. Anyway, Lynx is our field corpsman. She told me that aside from her medical backpack, she likes to keep her loadout light with an SMG and some survival gear. Apparently it lets her double as recon."

"Erm… no offense, Phoenix," Lindholm tapped her index fingers together and did her best to sound polite, "But we kind of know all this already."

"Oh, I know," replied Fara, not insulted in the slightest, "My point is, they've been missing one all along." She noted the furrowed brows and confused looks. "Just bear with me here. Think of your typical combat specialties, and then tick off the ones they've covered. You've got your Rifleman, your Designated Marksman, your Squad Gunner, your Corpsman, and your Recon. What are we missing?"

Lindholm counted on her fingers and stopped halfway through six. The answer seemed to hit the rest of them a second later. Jennifer turned fully toward her. "Oh, you clever, clever girl."

Fara voiced everyone's thoughts. "They need an Assaultman. Close-range weapons, proficient with explosives… and from what I saw between you and Carver out there, if I'm gonna be up in their grills, it couldn't hurt to be an expert in hand-to-hand combat."

Lindholm grinned. "You want the Raiders to show you the ropes?"

"Raiders? Wait… I've heard of you guys. Some kind of Special Forces unit, right?"

The lioness nodded. "Ding ding ding, right on the money. We can kick ass anywhere, but we're really trained to fight in space, whether it's repelling boarders, invading space stations, or even firefights in straight-up hard vacuum." Fara had heard of Sargasso pirates raiding cargo ships, cruise liners, and even lightly-manned Fortunan government craft. The idea of elite military operatives dedicated to the same purpose was comforting - or terrifying, depending on one's uniform and national flag.

"What about when the gravity goes offline?"

Jennifer chuckled almost demonically. "That's when it gets fun. Don't get me wrong, zero-gee combat is really trippy. But if you master it…" She cracked her knuckles. "…nothing is more satisfying than literally pummeling a 'Nomie into the fucking ceiling."

That mental image sealed the deal. "Let's do it."

Carver asked, "Are you sure, Phoenix?"

"Absolutely. Teach me how to do… that."

Jennifer popped her neck from side to side and somehow cracked her knuckles again, despite having just done it thirty seconds ago. "So…" The lioness reached up to her forehead and tucked a lock of blonde hair back into her high-shaved, left-swept side cut. "How about a rematch, Carver?"

The beastly canine's knuckle cracks sounded more like small-caliber gunshots. "Challenge accepted."

000

 **August 4, 20:55 Hours (11 Days Later)**

 _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **, CIC**

 **Fichina Orbit**

 **Patrol Operations**

Fox's voice floated out of Krystal's earpiece. _"Staff Lieutenant, how are things?"_

Krystal tapped a button on her wristcom, opening her own transmitter. "All quiet down here, sir. The only things we're picking up are FSU fighters in-atmo."

" _Glad to hear it."_

"Anything interesting on your end of the ship? I hope you didn't splatter one of Falco's relatives on the windshield again."

" _That happened_ _ **one**_ _time, two years ago."_ His tone turned smug. _"Hey, at least we get windows."_

Krystal smirked. "You get windows, I get scanners that allow me to see thousands of kilometers in every direction." She took a breath and shifted her datapad to her left arm. "So, I take it things are just as uneventful up there?"

Fox's response came with a raised voice, clearly meant to address a different individual. _"Well, other than Hallman shooting at stars with finger guns instead of_ _ **manning his station**_ _… yeah, pretty much."_

"Alright then. Next SITREP in thirty minutes?"

" _Same Fox-time, same Fox-channel."_

Krystal rolled her eyes. "You're terrible. TAO, out."

" _CO, out."_

The sapphire vixen tapped her wristcom again, closing the audio channel. She stood in the middle of the CIC, her domain and the ship's nerve center. The crewmembers' voices were lowered - as was commonplace for the department. Glass displays to her sides and rear projected various data plots and other data, with two or three personnel attending to each display. The workstation rows installed against the square room's bulkheads were fully manned: _Great Fox_ may have a downsized crew, but Krystal and the other command staff left no open seats in such a vital department.

Centered in the bulkhead in front of her was a live map of Fichina's surface below the ship - not the entire planet; that would have been ridiculous. The display updated every ten seconds, as evidenced by the track markers jumping around the screen. Each sensor contact, or "track" - all aircraft, in this case - showed up as a yellow blip, with an attached random number. If there were any other Cornerian signatures on display, they would have appeared with green markings. Enemy contacts would be colored red.

"Ma'am?" someone called out.

Krystal looked to her left. A grey feline had removed his headset and pivoted his swivel chair towards her.

"What is it?" asked Krystal once she had walked over.

"I'm tracking three-" he glanced at his display, "-correction, five unidentified aircraft. ID beacons disabled. They seem to be holding a flight path similar to the other Fichinan patrols, though."

Krystal leaned over and took note of the craft in question. She nodded. "Okay. Keep an eye on them."

"Roger that," acknowledged the crewman as he put his headset back on.

000

 **At the Same Time, On the Surface…**

"Gah! What the hell?!" The arctic vulpine yelped as he fell sideways out of his snowmobile. He looked behind to see another arctic fox walking towards him, holding a second snowball in his left paw.

"Sorry man, did I wake you?" he asked nonchalantly, bending down to offer his unoccupied paw.

The downed trooper took the hand up, and proceeded to brush the first snowball's remnants off the back of his helmet. "Sarge, it's already cold as balls out here! Now I've got this shit running down the back of my neck." He grumbled a few other things as he dusted off his thick arctic camouflage fatigues.

"Don't sweat it, kid. You'll live." The sergeant dropped his other snowball.

"Why are we even out here this late, anyway? The sun's going down, and it's going to drop to _fifty below zero_ tonight."

The taller sergeant crossed his arms. "Is that Centigrade or the stupid one?"

"You know I mean Centigrade! Look, I get it: security's important. But why do they have to send us way out here in the open? I mean, we have eyes in the sky right over there!" He jabbed a gloved finger at an angle behind himself, pointing out a loose formation of five aircraft. The sergeant immediately snapped his head in that direction. "What?" asked the younger trooper, his brow furrowed beneath his ballistic goggles.

"That's not one of our air patrol routes, rookie."

The sergeant grabbed his binos from where they hung around his neck. He took a few steps forward as he adjusted his bino set to bring the image into focus. Beside him, the other trooper did the same. When the view cleared up, they could see three of the craft were fighters. The other two were low-altitude VTOL gunships - spiritual successors of the centuries-dead helicopters - with door gunners on each side.

"Those are _not_ ours, Sarge."

"No… they're Venomian!" The pair of vulpines bolted for their snowmobiles, gunned the engines, and sped off to intercept. The three fighters immediately split off and up, while the gunships moved into range. Their door gunners opened up, stitching lines of machine gun fire all around the Fichinan soldiers.

"Patrol One, troops in contact! We've been engaged by multiple hostile aircraft; requesting support!"

A gravelly reply came across the radio. _"This is Patrol Two. We're coming right at you, ETA 20 seconds."_

" _Patrol One, Patrol Three. We're set up on the far side of the hill to your North-East. Lead them to us."_

Patrol One's younger trooper swerved left to avoid another stream of high-velocity death pellets. When he looked up, a third snowmobile was barreling towards them at full speed. The driver was hunched over the controls; a second man rode on the back with a guided missile launcher balanced on his shoulder. The VTOL's pilot recognized the larger threat, and fired a rocket of his own just as the Fichinan soldier launched his.

Both rockets hit their intended targets.

The gunship exploded in a mid-air blaze and dropped like a stone. Its rocket slammed into the ground half a meter in front of the snowmobile. The explosion's shockwave pulverized the two men's internal organs, killing them instantly. Their vehicle caught air through the blast, still moving full throttle without a driver. The snowmobile landed in a bank, and its fuel tanks caught fire a handful of seconds later.

With no other option, Patrol One's vulpines opened up their throttles and drove off in Patrol Three's direction. The trio of fighters were nowhere to be found, and while they may have taken out one of the gunships, the other's crew was hellbent on avenging their deaths.

More rockets hit the ground behind them and to their sides as they drove up a hill. Just as they were about to reach the peak, their radios crackled to life. _"Patrol One, stop! Stop, now!"_

With no time to ask questions, the two soldiers did so, wrenching their throttles down to zero. They still had enough velocity to clear the peak anyway. Just on the other side were two other Fichinan snowmobiles parked sideways. The drivers had crouched behind them and balanced their advanced pulse rifles against the vehicles.

The Fichinan troops opened fire as soon as the Venomian gunship appeared. The door gunner on the left jerked around from several gunshot impacts and slouched back into his seat. The one on the right caught a slug through the faceplate. The exit wound blew open the back of his helmet and pitched him clean out the side of the aircraft. The gunship's pilot had been moving fast enough that he, too, couldn't react before he had already passed the ambush.

"Let's go! On me!" called one of Patrol Three's men. The pair sprinted down to Patrol One, and all four men took aim at the gunship.

Once the VTOL had yawed around, the quartet of Fichinans laid down a hail of pulse rifle slugs. The pilot wasn't about to go down without a fight, and answered their fire with his own twin nose-mounted machine guns. One of Patrol Three's soldiers screamed as the high-caliber rounds tore him in half at the waist.

Before the Venomian could gun down any more of the infantrymen, Patrol One's sergeant tracked a rifle burst through the gunship's portside engine. The left side of the craft burst into flames, and the critically damaged thruster started firing out of control. The pilot was helpless as his craft spun through the air like a top. After a few rotations, the portside rocket pod cooked off, and all twenty warheads detonated in their housings. What was left of the VTOL split into three pieces and tumbled down into the hillside.

000

 **Aboard** _ **CSS Great Fox**_ **…**

The CIC sensorman Krystal had spoken to minutes prior took in the readings on his screen. "Holy shi- ma'am!" He ripped off his headset and whirled around his chair.

Krystal jogged over. "What have you got?"

"I just lost tracks on two of those aircraft. Sensors show multiple low-intensity detonations on the planet's surface."

One of the comms officers called out from the other side of the CIC. "TAO, Fichinan chatter reports shots fired!"

A third crewman interjected, "Ma'am, I've reacquired the other three aircraft. They're holding an interception course; in about ninety seconds they'll be all over us."

Krystal nodded. "Understood." She keyed her wristcom and opened a line to the bridge. "Captain, TAO."

Fox's laid-back tone contrasted sharply with the situation at hand. _"Lieutenant, you're early. Miss me alrea-"_

"Fichina is under attack and multiple unidentified aircraft are approaching our position."

The vulpine's demeanor changed like flipping a switch. _"Copy that. We don't have all the facts, so only fire in defense."_

"Understood. TAO, out."

On the bridge, Fox called out. "Deck Officer, set General Quarters!"

The avian in question nodded. "Aye, sir!" He bolted for the general announcement system.

Everyone aboard _Great Fox_ heard the resultant call. Fara had been chatting amicably with three other crewmen when the general alarm sounded out of nowhere. A baritone announcement came with the alert: _"General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands, man your battle stations! Transit up and forward starboard side; down and aft portside. Unknown aircraft approaching; contact imminent."_ By the time the transmission was over, it seemed like half the crew was storming through this tiny corridor - Fara included. The next minute was pure organized chaos as five hundred and eighty people double-timed it to their battle stations. Arms Masters issued weapons and armor to security personnel and Marines. Damage Control personnel suited up with flameproof suits and oxygen tanks. Everyone in the berthing areas went from dead sleep to dead run in three seconds flat. To the uninitiated, it would indeed have seemed like "pure organized chaos," but Fara knew better. This was discipline in its purest form: every single man and woman aboard the ship knew exactly where they were going and exactly how to get there.

Just as quickly as the torrent of activity had begun, it was over. All hands were strapped in and ready to deal with any disaster known to Lylat. As for Fara, she had finally chosen Security as her MOS. By sheer luck, she had been assigned to guard the CIC. Strapped up with a laser pistol on her hip and a light ballistic vest, Fara secured the hatch behind her and took up a post next to it.

Fara would have likened the next moments to watching the conductor of a grand orchestra, with a battleship's lethal arsenal as her instruments.

Krystal ordered, "Deploy all hardpoints; standby to engage targets."

"Aye, aye!" echoed a few crewmembers. Krystal wiped out the Fichina surface and replaced it with local sensors. The display was a simple black background with green rings overlaid as range markers. Three red dots steadily closed on the center mark, their contact pips tagged with _5024_ , _2716_ , and _1095_. The other monitors on the display bulkhead switched to various external camera angles. There were so many voices piled on top of each other, Fara could only fathom how Krystal was able to sort through it all.

"This is a Cornerian Federation Navy warship. Identify yourself and divert your course, or you will be subject to defensive action."

"…contacts bearing three-one-six, mark five-niner…"

"…CIWS set to auto, holding fire…"

"…port side, rounds loaded; targets painted. Mark-160 locked and covering…"

One crewman raised his voice above the others. "Missiles inbound! Too close for SM-90's!"

Krystal widened her stance and grabbed a support beam. "Launch chaff; brace for shock!"

A set of flares blasted from one of _Great Fox_ 's portside chaff tubes. Two of the heat seeking warheads were baited into harmless detonations, but the third carried on and slammed right into midships. The small warhead had no chance of getting through the battleship's thick armor plating, but the impact was still felt. Lights flickered momentarily, and one of the standing CIC crewmen lost his footing. The man on his left caught him before he could fall.

"Return fire!" shouted Krystal as she picked up her datapad off the deck, "Mark-160, portside!"

"Return fire, aye; tracking targets!" From one of the external cameras, Fara watched a gun designed for taking out shuttlecraft and assault boats, lock in a target lead on one of the comparatively tiny Invaders. The crewman behind the controls annihilated his prey with the touch of a button. The gun fired a three-round burst of hypersonic tungsten slugs, all of which punched right through the middle of the Venomian fighter. With its center disintegrated, the Invader's remaining outer shell crumbled and drifted away in pieces. Before the crewman could lock in a follow-up shot, the remaining two had circled around to the starboard side and each fired another missile. They were too close even for chaff, but their impacts were just as ineffective as the first.

Even so, Fara was getting tired of wobbling around like a drunk elephant. _If those 'Nomies keep this up, I'm gonna leave one hell of a nose print on the floor tiles!_

Another crewman called out, "TAO, CIWS engaged!"

Fara watched in awe as _Great Fox_ displayed its raw firepower even in its smallest weapons. In this case, a twelve-barreled gauss minigun spun up and unleashed the crimson fires of hell upon the nearest Invader. The offending bogey lasted about a tenth of a second before splitting in half - both pieces detonated individually a few seconds later.

The last Invader was making a run for it. A wise decision, but he was far too late to save himself.

Krystal waited until the fighter was just coming around the bow to instruct, "Go to the thermal DEWs (Directed Energy Weapons). Kill track five-zero-two-four."

"Surface, aye. Guns, kill track five-zero-two-four with thermals."

"Guns, aye." Fara's eyes widened upon seeing a brilliant orange beam fire from one of the ship's coaxial gunports. The shot went wide; it had to have missed by twenty meters, but the heat was so intense that it still melted part of the Invader's starboard wing and fried one of its two engines. The enemy pilot tried to limp away with the pathetic remains of his equally pathetic fighter, but Corneria's finest would have none of it. At a nod from Krystal, the crewman fired a second beam and flash-vaporized the last of their enemies.

There was a moment of silence, and then: "TAO, Sensors. All targets neutralized. No additional incoming, but I _am_ seeing multiple enemy squadrons on the surface."

"Are they coming our way?"

"No, ma'am. I think we scared them off."

Krystal let out a breath. "Alright. Well done, everybody. Keep sensors at full power and low-level weapons systems online. If Andross so much as sneezes in our direction, I want to know about it."

A unified, "Aye, aye!" rang through the CIC.

Krystal reopened her comm line to the Bridge. "Captain, TAO."

" _Five-by-five, Lieutenant; what's the status?"_

"Targets neutralized; _Great Fox_ is clear."

" _I must say, I'm disappointed."_

The vixen furrowed her brow. "Er… I'm sorry?"

" _Our thermic lance is capable of incinerating assault craft and boiling armor plating off of light warships. Using it to terrorize enemy fighter pilots is excessive."_

She could tell he wasn't actually displeased, and just messing with her instead. Knowing that, Krystal bit back in full force. "Military men share an affinity for large explosions and wanton destruction. Consider it a… very violent alternative to buying you flowers." One of the CIC crewmen laughed sharply for a split-second before managing to restrain himself. "Either way, we're clear of hostile contacts, but Fichina isn't. Several dozen enemy craft are attacking FSU's main fighter base."

" _And here I thought I'd be able to finish my coffee. Invaders don't have jump drives; where are they coming from?"_

"We don't know, but our best guess is a ship on the far side of the planet. That hemisphere's environment is hostile enough that the FSU hasn't established a major presence."

Fox hummed and thought for a brief moment. _"Something tells me you're right on the money, as usual. How's the battle going on the surface?"_

Krystal checked a few displays. "Venomians have the numerical advantage, but it's shrinking rapidly. Those Fichinan Wasps are the best fighter craft in Lylat… behind our Arwings, of course."

" _All right. Grab Fara, suit up and meet me in the hangar bay; I'll ping Falco and Miyu. We're heading down to give the Fichinans a hand. Once the base is secure, we'll take our Arwings to the far side of the planet, find that ship, and knock it out from below."_

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see you in ten." Krystal terminated the link and walked up to Fara. "We're going down to Fichina."

Fara protested, "Down there? To the _surface_?" The fennec thought first of her thin summer coat (it was the middle of August, after all), and then of Fichina's _you're going to die of frostbite on your asscheeks and it's going to suck_ level of extreme temperatures. Fara would never admit it, but putting the two images together brought up a tiny undomesticated whimper.

Krystal's smile was all too warm, and her pat on Fara's shoulder all too friendly. "Grow some fur or pack some mittens, dear. Your day is about to get a whole lot colder."

On second thought, Fara realized it wasn't all bad. That thermal lance had given her some nasty ideas for her Arwing…

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Jesus Christ. Not counting my own notes, trivia and all that, this chapter hit 9300 words on the _dot_. As for the wait, I know it was far too long. I just kind of lost motivation for a solid two months, and then had the genius idea to hammer out the last seven thousand words over nearly every waking hour of the past three days. God, I need a drink.

As for the story itself: now the plot thickens. I had originally planned the Star Wolf battle as this chapter's finale. But, FurFur's incessant bitching about the wait (jk, jk, you're awesome) convinced me to roll it into the beginning of number eleven. So, Star Wolf is coming up next!

Reader challenge: the first person to correctly guess my character inspiration behind Shears will win the Internet. (to be clear, the answer is a single character, from a single franchise)

Oh, one last thing I need to cover: I know I use a hell of a lot of acronyms, abbreviations and the like. This is for the sake of immersion, and while some terminology here and there won't be covered or defined immediately after its first use, believe me when I say I won't purposefully keep you in the dark about things you need to know.

 **Trivia**

 **General Quarters** is a call to action, and a tool the CO can use to effectively counter any situation. This is not just for combat; GQ can be sounded for any reason, at any time. The formula of a typical GQ announcement is: _"General Quarters, General Quarters,"_ followed by the reason for GQ and orders to move _"Up and forward starboard side, down and aft portside."_ Additional orders may be given over the comm if necessary. Here is a breakdown of this chapter's GQ alert: _"General Quarters, General Quarters!"_ All hands on deck; get ready to bolt like Usain. _"All hands, man your battle stations!"_ The CO had reason to believe the ship would engage in combat, and ordered the crew to their posts for that situation. _"Transit up and forward starboard side; down and aft portside."_ Don't you hate it when it seems like traffic is trying to go eight different ways, and you're about to be late for work? Yeah, the CIC crew hates when they can't fire back because they can't get to their stations… because they're stuck in traffic. This order directs said traffic so the entire crew, no matter how large, flows in a circular loop: that way, everyone reaches their posts in a timely manner. It also helps guide sailors woken up by the alarm who may not yet be fully alert. _"Unknown aircraft approaching; contact imminent."_ This piece of the transmission should be obvious enough: it outlines the situation for the crew in the shortest time possible so everyone knows what they're dealing with right off the bat. Supervisors and department heads usually have more information, and give their people a more complete image once they arrive.

All in all, there's three things you need to know about General Quarters.

 **1)** If the alarm sounds while you're taking a shit, you _will_ suck it back in and get your bare-cheeked ass in gear.

 **2)** It is the only acceptable time to show up wearing boxers/panties and a flak jacket, manning a 20mm deck gun.

 **3)** Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ will get you from a dead sleep to a dead run faster than GQ.

 **SM-90** 's are the Cornerian Navy's interdiction missiles. What does that mean? They're missiles, designed to shoot down other missiles. When the crewman announced the incoming missiles were "too close for SM-90's," he meant they were close enough that there wouldn't be enough time for _Great Fox_ 's fire control to lock them in and shoot them down. That's why our warships have multiple countermeasures and defense systems (CIWS, chaff, etc.).

 **Back To This Rambling Idiot's Author's Note:** That's all I got for today. SEE YOU IN FOUR MONTHS! (joking, the next one'll be out within a month if things go right)


	11. Frostbite

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Don't worry, you won't need Google Translate (you'll know what I mean). When I drop a Venomian/German word or phrase, a translation will accompany it if it pertains to anything even remotely important. For example, " _Was ist es?_ What is it?" or, " _Guten morgen._ Good morning." If a translation is not given, the word/term is mostly for immersion and you will lose nothing by not understanding it. In these cases, translations will still appear between my post-text AN and the Codex. Anyway, enjoy.

000

Chapter 11: Frostbite

000

" _Herr O'Donnell_?" called a lizard as he entered the hangar bay.

Wolf and his team looked over at the Venomian officer. The reptile was clad in naval officer's field dress: a royal blue collared dress shirt, with matching slacks worn over semi-formal black boots. His collar was kept straight thanks to a darker blue tie, tucked between two buttons halfway down the shirt. A royal blue, black-brimmed peaked sat atop his head, with a golden laurel-flanked "V" fixed front and center. His epaulettes displayed a pair of evenly spaced gold four-pointed stars on a silver background. Finally, the lizard's sleeve laces of four golden bands with a five-pointed star on top, confirmed his rank of full captain.

Wolf stood from his chair and responded in Venomian. " _Herr Kapitän_ _, was ist es?_ What is it?"

The lupine's actions, both criminal and mercenary, had built a poor enough reputation with Corneria for them to refuse his services. The Venomian military had no such qualms with his track record, so the Star Wolf team had begun working for them almost exclusively. The money was good, but a number of the enlisted personnel and lower-ranked officers they'd worked alongside had taken derogatory attitudes towards them. They believed Wolf's team were undisciplined, unprofessional, and altogether unworthy to stand among "the real soldiers." A lieutenant whose name Wolf couldn't remember even called them war profiteers at some point.

They weren't _wrong_ , but the accusation was still so hurtful. Wolf liked to imagine crying himself to sleep that night atop a ridiculously large pile of credits.

Wolf had long since trained himself to brush it off. The Venomian servicemembers' behavior had more to do with their military's rigid, adherent culture than anything else. Those troops in question treated all mercenaries the same way.

From his demeanor and the slight narrowing of his eyes, Wolf could tell the reptile before him harbored the same views. He was just better versed in concealing them. Even so, the captain's gaze eased up at the use of his native language. This kind of reaction had convinced Wolf to learn Venomian. Friendly contractors - or at least tolerant ones - paid better. Wolf had since noticed an increase in compensation from the Venomian navy, or the _Raumsmarine_ as they called it.

The captain replied, still in Venomian. "The targets have entered Fichina's atmosphere. You may launch when you wish."

Wolf nodded. "Thank you, _Herr Kapitän_."

The lizard returned the nod, pivoted on his heel, and stepped off back the way he came. A hiss came from behind Wolf once the hatch had closed. "Was that his tail or the pole up his ass?"

Wolf turned his head. "Can it, Panther. I don't like it anymore than you do, but they're the ones signing our paychecks."

Panther rolled his eyes and stood. "Sure. Whatever."

Wolf made an additional note to keep an eye on Panther's short fuse. He'd once had to physically restrain the feline from strangling a naval crewman who "insulted his honor." Wolf knew the negative atmosphere could be difficult to work in, but confronting it was not worth getting shot. It was reassuring that their actual contractor was a more highly placed naval officer than this ship's captain; likely an admiral of some sort. He wasn't certain because their contractor maintained anonymity: audio-only transmissions, with a voice scrambler way above their skills to decipher. _At least they know talent when he sees it, whoever they are. Even if they want to keep their association with us buried._

The lupine pushed those thoughts away and faced his team. They had a mission to complete. "Star Wolf, move out."

000

Falco eyed the retreating Venomian craft, and would have smirked if his beak allowed it. "Ha ha, they're running away!"

Fox confirmed as much with a display check. "Sure looks like it. Alright; form up on Skyclaw. If we follow them at a distance, they should lead us right to our target." A small number of Invaders were still fighting over the base, but he paid them no mind. The Fichinans had things well in hand.

The avian responded, _"Got it, Foxie. You heard him, ladies; follow me."_ The smug bastard somehow made wiggling his wings look cocky.

Fara glided her Stinger into his jetstream. _"I've got your six all the way, feather boy."_ Her voice dripped with mocking double entendre.

A choked snicker made itself known from Miyu's cockpit. _"Zephyr copies all; forming up on your left. We'll take_ _ **real**_ _good care of you."_

Krystal released a sigh for the Goddess. Children, all of them. _"Orders received. Cloud Runner will take the right."_ A derogatory thought form Falco's mind stuck up like a red flag. The vixen could not let it stand. _"And no, Lombardi, there is nothing for me to 'pull out' of anywhere!"_

Fox shut them all down. "Save it for the lounge, Star Fox. Cut the chatter."

The battle they had just fought over the Fichinan air base could scarcely be classified as such. The Venomians would have needed three times as many aircraft just to even the odds against FSU's superior Wasp fighters. Something was off, and Fox didn't want his team getting cocky.

"The job's only halfway done. We still need to find and destroy that ship."

Falco nodded to himself, knowing the vulpine was right. When he was about to say as much, staticky high-pitched interference blasted through Star Fox's commlinks. Everyone cringed, and Falco smacked the side of his helmet. "Gah! What the hell?!"

A new voice made itself known across the team's private channel. _"Can't let you do that, Star Fox!"_

If that sentence wasn't _every red flag ever_ , Fox didn't know what was. "This is an encrypted military channel! Identify yourself!"

A pair of nearby Wasp fighters exploded. Miyu gasped as a missile warning flashed across her visor. "Incoming, high and fast!" A half-dozen flares launched out of her fighter's underbelly. Barely, just barely, the inbound warhead streaked past her canopy and detonated against one of the newborn heat sources.

The pilots widened their formation and moved to intercept the four new targets. They were closing _fast_ ; so fast, in fact, that Falco's targeting computer couldn't lock anything for his long-range missiles. In a few short seconds, the lead bogey had closed to six thousand meters.

"Dammit, they're too close. Switching to Sidewinders." The avian touched a button and his targeting reticle changed, as did the range markers on his visor HUD. The AIM-26 Sidewinder was a short-range radar-guided missile. This made it nearly immune to flares and other heat-based countermeasures, and its close range and high velocity made it very difficult to evade.

However, the sword cuts both ways - especially when fighting on even ground.

Fox couldn't believe his eyes when the enemy fighters crossed within visual range. Though painted black and red, that angular, deadly spearpoint design was unmistakable. _They're… Arwings?_ As if confirming his statement, one of the bogeys cut loose with furious crimson laser fire. A second launched four warheads from a single canister.

Falco's eyes shot wide open. "Holy shi-" He was halfway through an evasive roll when all four missiles slammed into his forward shields. In the split-second it took for the smoke to clear, the faint blue aura of his Arwing's kinetic barriers flickered and died. Sparks flew out of several miniature holes in the fighter's nose, but the cracks in the right side of his canopy spelled the worst news. "Shields are gone and I'm leaking atmo! Not gonna make it back to the ship."

It didn't take much for Fox to make his decision. They were caught off guard against an enemy with equal or superior equipment, and Falco had been taken out of the game in seconds. "Fall back! Make for the airbase!"

Miyu argued, "Fox, are you crazy?! If we turn tail now, we'll - oh fuck!" The third enemy screamed down out of the cloudline before her like a reaper come to collect. Miyu veered off to the right, but that didn't stop the other pilot from lighting up her flank with twin orange continuous beams. The lynx's shields were fully charged, so she was shocked when she felt the impacts. According to her display, not only had her shields done nothing - the beams had punched through her armor plating as well.

And then, as if enough fuel hadn't already been added to the fire, her portside engine started billowing smoke. "Zephyr takin' hits! I'm losing engine power; somebody give me a hand!"

Fara adjusted her course. "This is Baroness. Hang tight; I'm on my way."

Much to her surprise, Fox cut in. "Negative, Baroness. Break off."

The fennec arched an eyebrow beneath her helmet. "Say again?"

Fox shook his pursuer with an Immelmann, followed by an outside loop. "You can't fight them in a Stinger! Get the hell out of here!"

"No!" she protested, "I can't just run!"

The vulpine opened up his throttle and raised his voice, "God damn it, Ensign, you will _not_ make me tell your parents you died on my watch! Go! _Now!_ "

Fara balled a gloved hand into a fist. _Fuck._ "Fine," she growled through clenched teeth.

Miyu chimed in, "Don't worry about me, boss. I can make it out of here on my own." She checked her sensor display. "Heads up, Cloud Runner. Looks like they're all headed for you two."

Fara's jaw would have dropped, if it weren't for her oxygen mask and her helmet's chin strap. _You've gotta be fucking kidding me._

Fox was an ace pilot for a reason. Even in these circumstances, he had a plan. "Roger that. Cloud Runner, form on me. We'll dip down and lose them in the canyons."

Krystal breathed and nodded. "Copy. Lead the way; I'll follow you in."

The last their teammates saw of the two vulpines was their ships dropping altitude and twisting around to enter Fichina's jagged ice canyons. Miyu swallowed the uncharacteristic lump in her throat and focused on getting her Arwing to the base without it falling apart. _Please, God, just be careful._

000

Krystal spared the briefest of moments to flick her gaze down to her sensor display. "They're right behind us!" She and Fox's white blips were so close together that they overlapped, and the two red deltas breathing down their necks promised only death.

She refocused her vision on the scene outside her canopy, thankful that checking her display hadn't killed her. That had been a very real possibility, with the icy canyon walls passing in a blur on both sides. Her Arwing followed the one ahead of it, copying Fox's moves in a desperate gamble to evade their pursuers. So far, it wasn't working.

The vulpine shouted back through his headset. "I know! Just stay low; if we pull up, we're dead!"

The vulpine looked down at his own display, which he had set to his Arwing's aft camera. Krystal's Arwing was hot on his exhaust vents. Two black and red ships followed above and behind them, waiting for the Star Fox pilots to flatten themselves against the canyon or pull up and give them a solid lock. The other two were far in the distance, but steadily closing.

"Fox, they're moving!"

He glanced down at his monitor again. One of the bogeys had diverted from its holding pattern and moved directly over the canyon. The ship inched down until it was less than two hundred meters above them.

Fox's reply was desperate. "Stay with me! We'll get through this!" A dreaded two-tone alarm proved him wrong. "They've got us locked! Dive!"

"There's nowhere to go! Fox-"

Krystal screamed, and the sound of it froze the orange vulpine's blood. Fox looked back in time to see her Arwing disappear in an explosion of snow and fire.

" _NO!"_ was all he could say before the jagged ice wall sheared off his right wing. The vulpine lost control over his craft as its course degraded into a roll. Sparks and smoke billowed out of the wing mount, and a dozen alarms blared at the helpless pilot. Fox brought a hand up in reflex as the ground rose up to meet him.

When the Arwing torpedoed into a snowbank at the bottom of the canyon, there was no explosion to mark its pilot's demise.

000

Fox regained consciousness with a deep, ragged breath. The stab of pain in his chest that came with it kicked the rest of his mind back into the world of the living. He blinked several times to refocus his vision and looked around the cockpit. What displays weren't throwing up red errors were either physically broken or awash with too much static to read their contents. The canopy panes had shattered on impact. His Arwing had dug itself halfway up its nose in snow and rested at a slight downward angle. Outside, Fox's acute hearing picked up the sound of howling wind. It was distant, but would become a major concern if it was heading his way.

The vulpine brought a paw up to his chest and slapped the safety harness release button. The buckles across his chest and stomach came unlatched, and he fell forward onto the Arwing's control board. Another lance of pain shot through his upper torso on impact. He was no medic, but it was probably a broken rib. Or three.

He pushed himself up off the instrument cluster, using his arms as leverage. Reaching to his left, he wrapped his fingers around a red handle on the side of the cockpit. Fox wrenched it ninety degrees to the right, and pulled. The Arwing's canopy frame blasted away, landing in the snow a few dozen feet in front. Now with room to stand, the vulpine did so before bracing himself on the portside edge of his cockpit and swinging over the side. He landed in a crouch to soften the impact, and looked back at his Arwing. His eyes settled on a lever mechanism like his emergency canopy release, a few inches forward of the cockpit. With the same turn of his paw, a hatch popped open in the Arwing's frame.

Two items were found inside the small cargo compartment. First was a thick military field jacket, heavily insulated and printed with the Army Cold Assault Division's grey-on-white splotched digital pattern - one of several dozen items Star Fox had requisitioned for their operations on Fichina. The fur lining around the jacket's neck was synthetic. Fox had been born in a civilized age, after all.

The second item was a black military-grade MOLLE (Modular Lightweight Load-Carrying Equipment) backpack stuffed with a myriad of cold weather survival gear. Unlike the jacket, the black bag was Navy issue, as evidenced by the bold silver _C.F. NAVY_ lettering across its upper back. Two red ice axes had been slid into the gear rigging on the pack's left side, along with two rows of four large bolts. A hundred-foot length of aircraft cable was strapped onto the pack's opposite side.

Fox was incredibly thankful for his own foresight as he slipped his arms into the jacket, pulled up the large zipper to its neckline, and shouldered the backpack. He hadn't expected such drastic circumstances as himself and Krystal being shot down and stranded, but that little pre-mission thought of _bring full survival gear just in case_ had just become standard operating procedure. That is, if hypothermia didn't immobilize and kill him first.

 _Okay. Step one: find Krystal. Step two: find shelter. Step three: bunker down and wait._

Step one proved easy enough. Fox looked to the right at the trail of destruction his Arwing had left in the otherwise pristine, shining snow: a machine-made trench, easily a hundred meters long and pockmarked with bits of twisted Titanium and top-secret hull plating. _We'll have to mark this for the DNI to clean up._ Fox had his share of opinions on the Department of Naval Intelligence, but this was neither the time nor the place to dwell on them. Besides, knowing them, a squad of officially nonexistent agents was already en route for cleanup.

Tracking his gaze up and to the left, he saw her. Or her Awing, at least. From the looks of things, the vixen's landing had been worse than his. Her fighter had bounced off the other canyon wall and crashed on a ledge. Thankfully, the cockpit - from his position, at least - appeared to be in one piece.

Not wanting to waste any time because god _damn_ was it cold out here, Fox trekked over to the base of the cliff and sized up his ascent. Ballparking the distance, he estimated a sixty foot climb. With strength like his he could scale that kind of wall with ease, especially with proper equipment. However, Fox was dealing with an ice canyon here. He would need to be slow, methodical and careful if he did not want to rip a chunk out of the cliffside and plummet to his death.

With axes in hand, and a deep breath to steel his nerves, Fox rammed one of the blades into the ice.

000

"Jesus Christ," Miyu breathed.

Standing on one of the airbase's VTOL landing platforms in fading sunlight, the lynx assessed the state of her Arwing with wide-eyed awe. Whatever that enemy fighter hit her with was some nasty stuff. There was no way it could have been standard lasers: the twin continuous beams had passed right through her shields and broiled off the exterior armor plating, the latter of which had been designed with energy dissipation in mind.

From stem to stern, the left side of her Arwing had been torched by a single wide horizontal impact. The hull plating along the strike zone's centerline was gone - either vaporized, melted or disintegrated - exposing some amount of the interceptor's innards. The plating around it was beyond scored: the Titanium armor was completely blackened, with a small handful of flakes blowing away in the wind. _I'm not Slippy, but I know armor doesn't flake._ As Miyu was taking all of this in, a three inch-wide piece of Titanium plating broke off and much to her surprise, shattered on the ground. The lynx stared with a small amount of horror as the pieces began to crumble away right before her eyes, much like the outermost shreds on her Arwing's flank.

That weapon, whatever it was, had bypassed her kinetic barriers and turned her ship's armor into little more than metal charcoal.

A familiar male voice called out, "Miyu, are you alright?" The lynx turned around to see Falco and Fara jogging across the landing platform.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Fara waved her over. "Come on. We're going to find a pilot."

Miyu furrowed her brow. "We're what now?"

"Finding a pilot," repeated Fara with an uncharacteristic edge, "They're still stranded out there. I couldn't help in the air, but I'll be damned if I make them walk all the way back here."

"And what about _that_?" Miyu pointed behind herself at the conditions outside the base. The immediate vicinity was clear of any major snowfall thanks to the facility's weather control station, but outside? Snow was coming down at an insane rate, and powerful gales were ripping sheets of the stuff right back into the air. "Nobody's getting through that blizzard."

Fara shot back, "And they're stranded in the middle of it, on foot! Miyu, these guys _live_ on this frozen hellscape. Do you really expect me to believe they don't have something that can cut through this crap?" She scoffed, "Unless you're fine with leaving our friends to die out there."

Miyu's eyes widened. Fara's brain caught up with her mouth and she looked at the ground, ashamed. "I'm sorry. That was-"

The other woman waved off her apology. She'd said a lot worse things herself in the past. "No, you're right. Let's hitch a ride and get them out of… wherever they are. Hang on." Miyu pulled herself up onto her fighter's left wing and leaned over the cockpit. Satisfied with what she saw on her sensor display, the lynx slid back down to the metal platform. "Their suit beacons are still right on top of the crash site; they must've found somewhere to hole up close by."

There was a possible alternative, but nobody gave voice to it.

Falco nodded. "Alrighty then, ladies. Let's find us a pilot."

Miyu raised a finger and pointed at something behind Fara. The fennec turned around: a tiger wearing a thick cold weather jacket and ski pants, both colored in FSU arctic splotch camouflage, was tinkering around with a VTOL on a nearby landing pad. It was a transport, large enough to seat the three of them with plenty of room to spare. Its rectangular frame and the engines fixed to its upper corners harkened back to ancient twin-rotor transport helicopters. More importantly, the black twin-cockpit, quad-engine aircraft's sturdy, imposing frame looked like it ate triple-A and flak shells for breakfast. That kind of hardiness could be just what they needed to power through the blizzard outside.

Fara made a noise of appreciation. "Huh. Good eye. Hey, you!"

And she was running off to greet her new best friend. With no desire to be seen as accomplices in case this sparked some kind of interplanetary incident, Miyu and Falco walked like normal, not angry people in the fennec's wake. In the forty seconds it took them to catch up, the Fichinan trooper looked like he had gone from smiles and warmth to legitimate fear for the safety of his children. The poor guy was probably shitting bricks.

The edge to Fara's speech had come back in full force. "What do you mean, no one takes off?"

The tiger's eyes darted around, likely searching for another Fichinan to rescue him. No savior was in sight. "I'm sorry, it's the wing commander's orders! Nobody takes off until the storm clears up!"

Fara's eye twitched. "Then let me explain why you're going to make an exception…"

Falco nudged Miyu as the five-foot-six-and-a-half Fara Phoenix continued menacing the pitiable technician. Fara had been very insistent about that half-inch, after all. Miyu would have laughed at the memory, but in this situation she would likely end up on the deck. She glanced at the avian, signaling that he had her attention.

Falco spoke in a lowered voice, "Should we do something?"

Miyu hissed through her teeth, "You're the senior officer. Do _you_ want to get involved?"

The fennec was cutting violently at the air with her arm. "...do _not_ have time to wait!" Fara stepped forward with her left foot and jabbed a finger at the tiger's nose. "Get someone to get us in the air, or so help me God, I will unravel your left testicle, staple the tubing to your leg and use your other one as a fucking ping-pong ball!"

Having never seen it before, Miyu had never realized just how attractive Fara's anger was. Of course the wonderful, protracted view of Fara's ass when she stepped in and pointed at the tiger had been a welcome bonus. Then again, the fennec being… plentiful in that region made it easy on the eyes and fun to watch any day of the week, if Miyu did say so herself. So there was that too, she guessed.

Fara wheeled around out of nowhere. "Well? Back me up here!"

Despite herself, Miyu took half a step back. For the first time in her life she was afraid of being caught staring. The lynx had to work her jaw open and closed, twice, before she could muster enough brainpower to speak. "Uh…"

A gravelly male voice intervened from her right side. "Corporal, what's going on over here?"

Miyu sized up the inbound newcomer: a muscle-bound husky wearing FSU's standard issue BDUs, arctic camouflaged in the same classic splotch pattern as the tiger's winter gear. Miyu's concern resurfaced when she spotted the rank insignia adorning his upper left sleeve: four horizontal golden stripes stacked beneath a matching oak leaf. If Miyu remembered Fichinan military structure as well as she believed, this could spell trouble. _And that would be the wing commander. Please, Fara, don't make a scene with this guy. Getting kicked off the base is the last thing we need right now._

Her avian counterpart had similar thoughts and took the opportunity to get ahead. "Sir? I'm Lieutenant-Commander Lombardi, Federation Navy. Those fighters that ambushed your boys? They caught us off guard, same as you; even shot down our CO and one of our wingmates. Normally, we'd handle recovery ourselves, but the aircraft we have on hand can't fly in this weather." Falco took on an apologetic look. "We hate to burden you, but…"

The wing commander nodded. "No need to say anything more, Commander. I understand." He turned to the Fichinan soldier and addressed him with an equally calm tone. "Corporal, why are they not already in the air?"

"Sir, with all due respect, you said nobody was allowed to take off."

His superior made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Yes, unless it's a life-or-death situation. And I believe we're dealing with just that, in a very literal sense. Wouldn't you agree?" Calling his tone 'displeased' would have been an understatement.

"I… of course, sir. I understand," said the tiger, nervously wringing his hands.

"Good. But just to be certain," he leaned down before the tiger, "Get. Me. A pilot."

The tiger nodded frantically. "Yes sir!"

The wing commander watched as the traumatized technician sprinted for the main complex like a bat out of hell. After a moment, he pivoted around to Falco.

"I apologize for the delay, Commander. You'll be airborne in a few minutes."

Falco shook his head. "No need to apologize. It was just a miscommunication."

The husky turned up a palm. "My order still caused it in the first place." He pursed his lips, working through a thought. "Tell your ship to expect some… care packages. It's the least we can do."

Falco brought up a hand to scratch at the back of his head. "Uh, I don't think that's really necessary."

"Neither was coming to our aid like you did. You helped us at the drop of a hat, put your necks on the line, and saved dozens of my men's lives. I won't forget that, and I'll make damned sure the Goldstars don't, either," he said in reference to the generals and admirals above him. "If you won't take a gift, take a resupply from allied forces. I insist."

Falco chuckled and raised his wings. "Alright; you've got me there. I'll pass the word."

The husky smiled. "Thank you, Commander. And good luck." With that, the officer made his exit, striding off towards the complex in a similar direction to his comrade.

Miyu had to admit, she was impressed. It could be easy to forget that with all of Falco's informality, he could still be one hell of a smooth talker, whether he was dealing with superior officers or working on a girl at the bar.

There was one thing she had to clear up, though. Turning to Fara, Miyu arched an eyebrow. "Staple the tubing to his leg?"

Fara's cheeks turned pink and she stuffed her hands into her pockets. Miyu slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled the woman into her side. "Aww, you're learning. I'm so proud. At this rate you'll end up just like me."

It took a full ten seconds for that to sink in. When it did, Fara's expression could only be described as pure abject horror.

000

Fox pulled himself up over the cliffside, the sixty-odd-foot climb finally behind him. In a safer environment he could have been up and over in three minutes, but this particular effort had taken him over five. Then again, he had been dealing with ice, without a spotter. That alone had been risky enough, but having to constantly switch between climbing with the axes and bolting the aircraft cable into the wall had made things outright deadly.

But he had made it. _Check another box on the list._ God only knew how many remained.

There were two positives and negatives to Fox's current situation. First, Krystal's Arwing was indeed in one piece, save for a missing wing. They might even be able to air-lift the hull out, replace what was needed and repair the rest. Second, he knew help would be on the way soon, if it wasn't inbound already. Having worked joint ops with the Fichinan military before, the vulpine was well aware of just how hardy their vehicles were. Even a storm like this should cause little trouble for the weathered arctic troops.

Speaking of which, that was the first major downside. The blizzard had arrived. Fox could feel the frigidity in his joints. It seemed like his bones were frozen, as though they were chilling his body from the inside. His internal body temperature was dropping - albeit very slowly - and intermittent blasts of snow stung at his cheeks and eyes. It was not reassuring to know that this was only the edge of the blizzard. But the second downside?

Krystal wasn't in the cockpit.

The sapphire vixen laid face down in the snow, several meters ahead of her Arwing. And she wasn't moving. _Shit!_ Fox raced over to her, heart in his throat. With a quick pulse check, he confirmed she was still breathing. Turning Krystal over onto her back, he spotted a pair of bruises on her scalp and a nasty looking cut across her forehead.

Krystal's eyelids were fluttering: she was half-conscious at least, which was _very_ good. Passing out in this kind of weather was an express ticket to the afterlife. Their time was still limited, and the Search and Rescue team needed a signal to follow. _If there_ is _a team._ Fox spent a few seconds rummaging through his pack until he pulled a flare gun from its innards. Simple in design and effective in its purpose, the device had changed little over the centuries.

The vulpine raised his arm and fired a charge straight up. A handful of seconds later, a bright red light was born in the sky. Confident he had given their rescuers a solid bearing, he turned his attention back to the vixen in front of him.

"Krystal, wake up," he pleaded through clenched teeth. "Come on, wake up." He moved to pull her head into his lap, meaning to lend the shivering woman his jacket. Yes, he was already freezing his pelt off, but he'd be damned if he let her catch frostbite out here.

As soon as her legs moved, Krystal's eyes flew open and she yelped in pain. _Oh shit. Broken legs; that is_ _ **not**_ _good._ She looked around frantically, gasping in panic until Fox grasped her paws in his. "Krystal! Krystal, it's me!"

Krystal turned her head to the sound of Fox's voice. The vulpine's emerald eyes met her aquamarine. A look of relief washed across her face, but those eyes still harbored concern. "Fox?" she asked, as though needing to hear his voice again.

He nodded, giving Krystal's hands a squeeze. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Don't worry. We're going to be fine." Somewhere above, the rumbling sound of aircraft engines drew near. _Thank God. They saw the flare._

Fox expected her to ask how he'd found her, or at least nod in recognition of his words. He did _not_ expect the vixen to turn into him and wrap her arms around his waist. "You didn't leave me," she said, her voice muffled by his jacket.

 _Never_ , he thought with absolute conviction. Fox brought a hand down to squeeze her exposed left shoulder.

The vulpine looked up at the large dropship now holding overhead. Through the blinding spotlights, he could see the flank doors slide open. A scant moment later, Miyu, eyes covered by white ski goggles and body wrapped in winter gear, was fast-roping down to meet them.

Krystal tightened her hold around his waist. She had heard him, and she knew he was telling the truth.

000

Early the next morning, Miyu finally allowed herself to drop her datapad on her desk and take a breath. A million questions still spun through her brain, the most prevalent being _'what the hell did we run into out there?'_ She didn't let herself dwell on them while there was still work to be done, and she wouldn't until the two vulpines currently laying in her medbay were back up to a hundred percent.

What time was it again? _Ugh._

Miyu glanced down at the clock in the upper-right corner of her blue-screened datapad. _Oh God. I'm going to die of sleep toxicity at this rate._ The lynx dragged a hand across her face. When she really thought about it, the many styrofoam coffee cups filling her office's trash bin didn't do her any more favors in practicing what she preached. This late at night, though - _correction, this early in the morning_ \- she was fresh out of fucks to give.

An odd noise from the medbay, paired with muttered voices, pulled Miyu's attention back to the world around her. One half of her wanted to check on them. After all, she hadn't done so in a while. The other half - the shameless one - wondered if their near-death experience had triggered some kind of dormant vulpine rutting mechanism. That image was amusing, but the possibility of having to inform the crew that Fox had slipped off a gurney and broken his neck while Miyu was thirty feet away? Less amusing.

The lynx rolled her chair back, stretched, and grabbed her pad. She laid her palm against the office's door release. When the hatch hissed upwards and she looked around the medbay, she had to refrain from strangling two of her closest friends. No, they weren't screwing each other's brains out - _slightly disappointed, mostly relieved_ \- but Jesus _Christ_ , how hard was it to follow simple rules? Miyu had a well-deserved reputation for taking life fast and loose, but she turned into a complete tyrant when medical care was involved.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Two pairs of eyes, previously transfixed on the wall-mounted television across the room, snapped over to her like deer caught in headlights.

They weren't out of bed, but they were both sitting up, which was an extreme no-no with Krystal's broken legs. At least they were still bandaged. God only knew how the vixen had gotten her hands on her datapad. It hadn't even been in the medbay last time Miyu had checked, and oh had she checked, but here the little workaholic shit was, flicking through CIC reports, catching up on paperwork, and generally _not resting_. Fox had seemed perfectly content watching her work, and that was just… _wait, there's nothing wrong with that. Damn it; I need something to be mad at him about._

He was supposed to be setting an example! _Or something._ Regardless, somebody needed a serious tongue lashing. And while Miyu would have loved to ruffle up her fur with Jenny right now, two guilty-looking vulpines needed the law laid down for them first.

Miyu stomped over to stand in front of their gurneys, blocking their view of the television at the same time. The lynx balled her paws into fists and planted them on her hips. "I leave you two alone for ten minutes, and what do you do?"

Fox tried to cut in, "Uh, Miyu?"

"Fox, you can walk just fine; I don't care. But _you_." If looks could kill, Krystal would have spontaneously combusted under Miyu's raging eyes and accusatory index finger. "Krystal, I may have knit your legs, but they need time to heal properly! You can't just shuffle them around like this!"

Fox tried again, "Miyu?"

"God damn it, you two had me worried when I pulled you into that transport! Do _not_ make me have to break your legs and stitch them back together all over again! If you two would just listen to-"

" _Miyu."_

"What?!" she yelled louder than intended, whirling around to burn Fox down in her fiery magenta glare.

Fox only pointed at the TV behind her. Confused, Miyu turned around. What she saw nearly made her drop her datapad.

The screen displayed a breaking story from Vulpine News. The headline at the bottom read _Kaiser Rising: Massive Power Shifts in Venomian Government?_ The cameras were focused on Andross Oikonny himself, surrounded by numerous generals and admirals.

He stood in a dark suit at the edge of the Republic Assembly's grandly decorated balcony, delivering a speech before hundreds of thousands of Venomian soldiers. The troops were arranged in immaculate ten-by-six grid formations, each with a single company commander standing in front of the first rank. The force as a whole had lined up its companies six abreast, with the first four ranks of companies standing on the historic Capitol Boulevard. Those behind them kept the formation all the way down the wide rectangular expanse of the Republic Courtyard. If there was an end to the black-clad soldiers, it was nowhere in sight.

The assembled force was immediately recognizable as the _Sturmkorps_ , a formidable force made up of Venom's most elite troops. Three years ago, Storm Corps infantry divisions had taken Macbeth's capital without reinforcements, armored support or air cover. The battle's end came when they had surrounded the Macbethan First Minister's palace and breached the gates with anti-tank rockets. Footage of the _Sturmkorps_ making good on its name spread like wildfire in the following weeks, sourced from security cameras and helmet-mounted recording devices alike. They had stormed through the pristine marble hallways, cut down what little opposition remained, and kicked in the door to the First Minister's office. The image of Macbeth's leader signing the ceasefire order in front of a Storm Corps colonel, backed up by a dozen rifle muzzles, quickly became a major Venomian propaganda tool.

They took New Manchester in six days, and they had done it with a casualty ratio of over two hundred to one. When the cameras momentarily zoomed in and panned over the frontmost companies, a significant number of them had the Macbethan Conflict Service Medal - a bronze cross on a purple ribbon - pinned above their left breast pockets. Those who did wore it with pride, heads held high and eyes alight. Macbeth was their trial by fire, and they had rolled over it in under a week.

Their black dress uniforms held no ribbon racks; they solely displayed medals. This stemmed from a Venomian military tradition that only truly significant achievements should be displayed at events that merit full formal dress. The most decorated soldier they could see was a colonel with no more than six medals.

The troops' silver buttons stuck out brightly from their black jackets. Their right collars displayed the SK's insignia: a downward-pointed white sword with two small diamonds stacked to its left, set into a black patch. On the opposite side, the left collar identified rank. Downward-facing white chevrons were sewn to many troopers' upper sleeves. These were the Storm Corps' equivalent to service stripes: each chevron represented two years' time in the military. A black, white-lettered sleeve band above the left wrist read _Für Venom und Viktoria_ ; "For Venom and Victory" in Cornerian. Viktoria was the goddess of victory in Venomian mythology, widely regarded as a patron among its military service members. Beneath the jacket was a bleach-white dress shirt, kept in check by a black long tie with a small golden laureled "V" pin fixed one inch below the knot. A wide silver-buckled onyx dress belt was worn over the jacket. In observance of public ceremony, the soldiers' belts did not carry the usual sidearm holster. Black slacks fed into immaculately shined knee-high laceless ebony jackboots. A featureless black steel parade helmet, polished to the point of light reflection, completed the Storm Corps' intimidating formal dress uniform.

Each soldier held a ceremonial wood-furnished rifle in a parade left shoulder carry position. The only exceptions were the company commanders, who carried gleaming steel sabres instead. The innumerable sixty-plus-one companies stretched so far back that the furthest visible soldiers blurred into a sea of raw military power. It was unsettling to think how many more stood beyond the camera's vision. Venom Prime's metallic monoliths stretched to the sky behind them, towering spires coming just short of the invisible containment shield that isolated the great city from the toxic atmosphere of its host planet. All of the planet's major settlements possessed similar technology, but none came close to the capital.

Though Venomian was his second language, Andross spoke so flawlessly that he was indistinguishable from a native. His harsh tones and furious passion were accentuated by his ever changing body language: some lines were accompanied by grand sweeping gestures, others forced through by snapping, forceful slashes and swipes of his arms.

" _Für unsere Kinder, und die Sicherheit der Souveränität…"_

"For our children, and the security of sovereignty…"

Seeing the massive Venomian force and hearing Andross' speech, Miyu felt her knees buckle. Her throat dried in an instant. "Oh no."

000

Chancellor Andross Oikonny strode into the semicircular Venomian Planetary Assembly chamber, the seat of the planet's elected local representatives. Each row of seats was elevated above those before it, creating something of an auditorium. If one were to cut through some minor details, the structure - both of the building and the government it housed - were surprisingly similar to their Federation counterparts.

Today, that would change.

The eighty Venomian Assemblymen remained seated as Andross strode towards his podium. The only exception was the High Chairman, a lupine wearing a dark blue three piece suit.

"Chancellor, thank you for your quick arrival."

Andross nodded and turned up a palm. "Of course, Herr Chairman. I assume you have called this assembly for a purpose. How may I serve the Venomian people?"

The Chairman pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Herr Chancellor, I'm afraid you will serve the Venomian people no longer."

The ape made a small noise. "Chairman, I do not follow."

His counterpart crossed his arms. "I believe you do. Perhaps this illegal war you've started comes to mind? I do not know how you have deceived the military into believing we had officially declared war on the Federation, but whether we discover your methods is of no concern. You and the officers responsible will be brought to justice regardless."

The Chairman pressed a button on the underside of his podium. A door slid open behind Andross at the rear right corner of the chamber, and from it strode four members of the Venomian Assembly Honor Guard. Their crisp grey uniforms were freshly pressed, and their silver-painted armor gleamed in the chamber's artificial light as they crossed into the room. Behind them entered the Guard's commander, a black-furred wolf with a thick scar across his left cheek. He was the only man among them not to wear the decorated full-face helmet.

The Chairman turned his gaze to the guards. "Commander, place the Chancellor under arrest."

Andross had never even looked in the Guard's direction, but he heard them move. A smile crawled up the primate's lips as the four masked men lined up on his flanks, white magnetic rifles in left shoulder carry positions. The commander, hands clasped at the small of his back, took a position next to Andross with two steps.

"Did you not hear me, _Kommandant?_ I said, arrest the Chancellor!"

Andross now spoke in a low, calm voice. "My dear Chairman… I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

His tone reminded the lupine of a snake before the kill. The Chairman swallowed the knot in his throat, an act which he concealed poorly. "And what… would that be?"

The primate's smile morphed into a disturbing smirk. "You assume I _deceived_ the military."

Andross raised his right hand with an open palm. With parade ground discipline, the four masked Honor Guards dropped their rifles from shoulder carries. Each let his right hand glide from stock to grip and caught the barrel in his left as his weapon fell. In a single fluid motion, they shouldered their rifles and slid their right legs back into firing stances.

A deathly silence fell over the assembly as the Chairman backpedaled. He thrust his shaking arms in front of him in a desperate gesture for mercy. _"Nein! Nein!_ Don't shoot! _Nicht schiessen!"_

Andross closed his fist. Four gunshots rang out, all hitting the lupine in the torso and spraying the wood paneling behind him with blood. The faint _tink_ of casings on the floor made the only sound in the room, followed suit by the Chairman's body falling . Shouts, gasps and cries of horror coursed through the Assembly chamber, but they were short lived.

Every door in the Chambers opened. Eighty additional Honor Guards marched in, one for each Assembly representative. Unlike those who came before, these men and women held their rifles ready to aim and fire if ordered.

Seven sporadic shots rang out as the politicians who tried to fight were executed. Half a minute after the doors had opened, each Venomian Assembly representative had an Honor Guard posted behind them.

Andross stepped forward from the podium, his powerful voice carrying without the assistance of a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen… today is a new dawn. Twelve years ago, when the people of the Venomian Republic elected me to this office, I had promised to transform this nation from a tool of the Federation into a systemwide superpower.

The ape paced slowly back and forth, making small gestures with his right arm while his left rested behind his back. "In those many grand speeches of mine, I spoke of antiquated, anachronistic institutions. I detailed corrupt, failing governments. I explained how and why these things needed to die; to be wiped away for a new, better order to take their place. Most assumed I spoke of the Federation and its allies. Katina. Fichina. Fortuna. And they were correct.

The Chancellor ceased his pacing. "However, they failed to interpret the deepest meaning of those words. The Republic's stagnation, and its later decline, were at their core not the fault of Corneria. The true blame lies with this Republic's own government.

Andross paused a moment to allow the murmurs to subside. "Let history show that what I do now, I do it not for power. I do it not for glory. I do it for the good of Venom, and so that its people may rise again. This time, we will rise as the inheritors of Lylat.

Despite their situation, some of the politicians found themselves captivated with Andross's words. Even now, they wanted to believe him.

"You, however, will not." Andross let his arms fall to his sides. "Today, this Republic is no more. The government will be reorganized into a Venomian Empire, for the security of the State and the safety of its people. This will not be a reign of tyrants… but you will kneel before your _Kaiser_ ; your Emperor, as a gesture of allegiance."

The room fell silent for a moment as Andross's words soaked into his audience. One by one, the seventy-three remaining Assembly representatives dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.

Andross nodded. "Good…" he said softly, "Good…"

He paused once more, allowing the seconds to tick by.

"Commander, execute them all."

Cries of terror overtook the room as the Honor Guard commander stepped forward. One of the politicians spun around and grabbed at his guard's leg. The faceless animal delivered a right uppercut into the lizard's jaw with her ceramic-ribbed glove. He recoiled, and the woman her steel-wrapped left boot down on his kneecap. A snap kick with her opposite leg to the Assemblyman's face sent him sprawling to the deck once more. The lizard's screams of pain stopped any other attempts at resistance.

The lupine commander's deep voice boomed through the chamber. _"Bereit!"_

As one, the faceless Honor Guards shouldered their rifles and pulled the charging handles. Sounds of firearm mechanics rang off the walls.

" _Ziel!"_

The grey-clad, silver-armored men and women shifted into firing stances, each rifle muzzle pressed hovering at the back of a politician's skull. Time seemed to slow to a crawl before the commander's final order was given. Andross thought he heard a woman babbling something about her children.

" _Feuer!"_

The guards pulled their triggers as one, bringing the orchestra of execution to climax with a piercing report. The Assembly Chamber was bathed in red - first by muzzle flashes, then in blood. With that single volley, Kaiser Andross Oikonny's game of thrones had been won.

000

The three Cornerians in _Great Fox_ 's medical bay were transfixed as Andross finished his speech. _"Lylat lies before us! Viktoria is with us! And Venom! Marches! Behind us!"_

The Venomian soldiers' hearts were lit on fire upon hearing of the Goddess of Victory's favor. Every last man and woman thrust their left fist up and down three times in perfect sync with a cheer that cascaded through the city like rolling thunder.

" _Ah! Ouh! Ah! Ouh! Ah! Ouh!"_

One of the generals beside Andross sucked in a breath of air and called out in his raspy baritone. _"Rechts… Um!"_

The first four rows of companies performed a right face with a sharp pivot and stomp. They came out of it at perfect attention, facing down the kilometers-long Capitol Boulevard.

" _Im Gleichschritt... Marsch_ _!"_

The _Sturmkorps_ troops on the street marched off to war, and the entire force moved forward to fill the gap. When the next quartet of six-company ranks reached the street, they executed an identical group face without missing a step and made off after their comrades. This pattern continued without fault or flaw, endless pairs of leather boots crashing against concrete in a deafening symphony of unadulterated power. When the third battalion pivoted down the Boulevard, they delivered the _Sturmkorps_ anthem's opening lyrics in a baritone that sent shivers down the spine.

 _Ade, mein liebes Sch_ _ätzelein_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Es muss, es muss geschieden sein_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Es geht um Venoms Gloria, Gloria, Gloria_

 _Wir k_ _ämpfen_ _für Viktoria_

 _Sturm an, Viktoria!_

 _Wir sind des schwarzes Krieger_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Mit dem Sieg, wir kommen wieder_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Es geht um Venoms Gloria, Gloria, Gloria_

 _Wir k_ _ämpfen_ _für Viktoria_

 _Sturm an, Viktoria!_

 _Wir ruhen und wir rasten nicht_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Bis dass die Satansbrut zerbricht_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Es geht um Venoms Gloria, Gloria, Gloria_

 _Wir k_ _ämpfen_ _für Viktoria_

 _Sturm an, Viktoria!_

 _Reich mir die Hand zum Scheidegruss_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Und deinen Mund zum Abschiedskuss_

 _Ade, ade, ade_

 _Es geht um Venoms Gloria, Gloria, Gloria_

 _Wir k_ _ämpfen_ _für Viktoria_

 _Sturm an, Viktoria!_

No matter how many of them marched up the courtyard, they just kept coming. Full minutes ticked by in _Great Fox_ 's medical bay without a word spoken or an end in sight.

Intelligence had numbered the Venomian Storm Corps around five hundred thousand. That figure had not changed much since the invasion of Macbeth, despite Venom's obvious military build-up over the following three years. If their elite corps could spare a force this large during a war, for a parade of all things, their true membership had to be many times higher. The three Cornerian officers shared a single unspoken question: how? _How_ had Andross done this in just over a decade? _How_ had intel dropped the ball so badly?

 _If something this big slipped by us, what else are they hiding under our noses?_ What would they tell the crew? How could they order them all to stand fast in the middle of that?

Fox felt something tighten around his paw, pulling the vulpine out of his thoughts. When he looked to his right, Krystal was holding his hand. Just when he had opened his mouth, his wristcom beeped.

There couldn't be worse timing in the galaxy, but Staff Commander McCloud still had his duties. "Go for CO. What is it?"

A young man's voice floated through his wristcom's small speakers. _"Sir. Junior Lieutenant Maylan, CIC. We have an inbound shuttle; it's not Cornerian."_

Fox sat ramrod straight. "Why aren't we at GQ _right now?_ " Due to current events, his fuse was much shorter than usual.

" _It's completely unarmed, sir, and… sir, it's Cerinian."_

-/-

Five minutes later, _Great Fox_ 's CO entered the hangar bay with eight security personnel at his rear flanks, armed with automatic rifles and wearing heavy ballistic vests. Six other armed security crewmen waited for them by the grey and white shuttle.

The ramp began lowering upon Fox's approach. Jets of steam sprayed from the craft's underside, equalizing pressures as atmospheric seals were broken. All fourteen security crewmembers raised their weapons towards the ramp, and the single occupant standing at the top.

The shuttle ramp touched _Great Fox_ 's hangar deck, and the figure slowly walked down its length. Stepping through the obstructive steam, the person was revealed to be a woman; a vixen, to be exact. She was not of Lylatian origin, if her midnight blue, almost black fur was its natural color. The fur on her face, neck and what little was exposed of her upper chest was white. A few faint, light blue shadows on her skin almost reminded him of Krystal, though the small wrinkles around the edges of her eyes indicated a more advanced age.

The woman wore a set of elegant black robes, with several intricate dark blue shapes woven into the material. Her garments sported gold edge trimmings, and the robe appeared to be kept on by small silver ties going down her sides, as well as a large silver clip over the front of her right shoulder. Despite the curious fur color and exotic clothing, Fox found himself drawn to her eyes. They were the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, bright enough to seem almost backlit in their gaze.

The visitor stopped at the base of her shuttle's ramp. She spent a moment tracing her gaze first around the hangar bay, and then over the assembled personnel. Her every movement was executed with grace; her speech even moreso.

"You are Fox McCloud, are you not?" Her voice was smooth as silk, despite carrying a trace of gravel due to her age.

Five of the armed crewmen stepped back and narrowed their eyes. Two shifted aim to her head.

Fox blinked, caught between not wanting to appear shaken and being unable to deny her words.

He took a breath before asking: "Who are you?"

The woman settled her right hand against her chest and delivered a small bow. "Ah. Forgive me. I admit I am… yet unaccustomed to environments without telepaths."

Fox gave a small wave with his right arm. The security teams lowered their weapons.

"My name is Falyf Randorn, and I am a High Disciple of the Krazoa. I sensed your Cerinian officer's… internal deliberations some days ago. Beneath that, I could also feel her immense untapped power; far deeper than even she is aware of."

The Cerinian woman's robes swished as she brought her hands at her stomach. "I offer my services as a warrior to you, and a teacher to her."

000

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Merry Christmas, motherfuckers. Guess who's back?

 **But it's not Christmas anymore.**

I… yes, Jenny. I'm well aware. Thank you.

 **Then why are you wishing them a merry Christmas?**

Because I meant to get this out on the 25th.

 **And why didn't you? Didn't you tell FurFur you'd release it by then, too?**

Power went out late at night on Christmas Eve and it didn't come back on 'til morning on the 26th.

 **Ha ha, you poor bastard. But why didn't you shit out this chapter then?**

Because _it would have been shit_ , Jenny. Ever heard of editing?

 **Yep. Why don't you edit me in there someplace? I'm sure we can fit me and at** _ **least**_ **two strippers in combat gear.**

Jenny, we've been over this. There was nowhere to put you. You didn't _have_ any plot relevance in this chapter.

 **What about the strippers? Rejecting busty vixens in full tac gear… what are you, gay?**

Fine. Noted.

 **And are you saying I'm not plot relevant?**

Uh… no.

 **You telling me I'm not important?**

No; I never said that!

 **Hm… where did I put Mustang and Sally again?**

Yeah, I think she's pissed off. Let's hope she doesn't find where I hid her twin pistols.

A major thing I should mention is that I'm completely overhauling Venom. I don't just mean from what they were in SF64, because I've already done that. My vision for _Fire Across Lylat_ has greatly expanded since I started writing this almost two years ago (holy shit). I feel like I did the bad guys a serious disservice in the opening chapters, especially in their Codex entries. That's why what you just read (Venom having a democratic assembly, their people having pride and patriotism, etc) directly contrasts with what you've read in the Codex before. I may go back and remove the offending entries.

On the _Sturmkorps_ anthem: yes, I did just take _Sieg Heil Viktoria_ and change around some lyrics. It still fits with the inspiration I'm going for, and I don't know German well enough to write my own war songs.

Speaking of which, please note that despite being half-German, _I am_ _ **not**_ _a native speaker!_ I have a native German friend whom I occasionally run things by, but he is not always available. More often than not I have to use Google Translate (an unreliable tool at best for anything more than simple phrases) and what little knowledge of German grammar I possess. If I make a mistake, even if it's minor, please for the love of God let me know. Send me a PM with what I screwed up, how I screwed it up and in what chapter, along with the correct terminology. I will make the edits immediately, and thank and credit you in an updated author's note.

Oh, and about all those bombs I dropped this chapter… yeah, the Great War will get _much_ worse before it gets better. ***chuckles*** Sweet dreams.

 **Translations**

 ***I know this is a lot of stuff. That's because I lay out some basic (and I mean hella basic) grammar/structure here too. This section will be** _ **hella**_ **shorter in the future; you have my word!**

 _Schiesse_ vs _Scheisse_ : This had me scratching my head until I noticed the _i_ and _e_ switch between them. _Schiesse_ means "shoot," as in "open fire." _Scheisse_ is the one we've all heard. Obviously, it means "shit." Google Translate's audio feature (the speaker-lookin' button) can help if you're ever confused about pronunciations with foreign languages. It's not accurate every single time, but it should help you build a general picture of what things are supposed to sound like.

 _Kapitän_ : Captain.

 _Raumsmarine_ : Space Navy. I actually made this word up, but it's still proper German. How does that make sense? Well, there's a trick in German grammar where you can, in certain circumstances, take words and essentially mash them together into one. I've mostly seen this done with titles and nouns. Keep in mind there _is_ a correct way to do this, so it's possible to screw up. I haven't mastered it yet, so once again please keep an eye out if you're _ein deutscher Mann/eine deutsche Frau._

 _Mann/Frau_ : Man/woman.

 _Jawol, Herr/Frau…_ : German doesn't have direct terms for "sir/ma'am." Responses to a superior (or respectful responses in general) are instead structured like this, with the [...] being replaced with the person's title. A good example is at the beginning of the chapter, when Wolf thanks the captain for updating them: "Thank you, _Herr Kapit_ _än_ ," using _Herr_ to show respect. The reverse; say, the same captain addressing a lieutenant, would be the same - just without the _Herr/Frau_. "Thank you, _Leutnant_."

" _Nicht schiessen!"_ : "Don't shoot!"

 _Sturmkorps_ : Storm Corps. This is another one of those combined names.

 _Kommandant_ : Commander.

 _Bereit; Ziel; Feuer_ : Ready; Aim; Fire.

 **Codex**

 **Formal Dress vs Field Dress:** This isn't a Codex entry as much as it is just good reference info. Military dress uniforms generally fall into two categories, which I have dubbed "formal" and "field." Formal dress is much more… well, formal, and (in this universe) reserved for important and/or ceremonial occasions. Parades and military balls are two examples of such events.

To put it bluntly, formal dress looks sexy, but it's a bad idea to run across a battlefield wearing a bleach white jacket with shiny gold buttons, a matching pencil skirt and heels. Same goes for strutting around a forward operations base in a bright red jacket (looking at you, Pepper). You don't want the enemy knowing how important you are, and that fabric ain't gonna stop a sniper from busting a fat one through your chest cavity. But hey, at least the enemy can't see you bleed.

Field dress is still "formally" presentable, but designed with more flexibility in mind. Nobody will care if your shirt has a teeny tiny wrinkle while you're deployed, and the uniform is functional enough to fight in. Think of US Marine embassy guards, with their blue slacks and tan dress shirts. They're armed, and it's easy to slap a Kevlar vest over the shirt. Not so much when you're dealing with a suit jacket and dangly medals.

The only exception is Director Krennic. Terrorists droppin' bombs right next to him and that dude just did not give a _fuck_. That white jacket and majestically badass cape; oh my God. He is perfect and should never have died, _SHUT UP_.

 _ **Sturmkorps**_ **:** "Venom, Sieg, Viktoria." The Venomian Imperial Storm Corps is one of the most elite military organizations in Lylat. _Sturmkorps_ troops trace their history back nearly three thousand years to the elite _Sturmbann_ (literaly, Storm Band) of the Western Republic in their war of independence against the seemingly indomitable Weltreich; a self-proclaimed "global empire." They held the trenches against all odds and made a push of their own; one that would secure sovereignty for their fledgling state, and shape Venomian history for the next millennium. The Storm Corps has never let go of those sacred traditions of strength and steel. No amount of Allied propaganda can dispel the facts: Corneria is dealing with a force that brought an entire world to its knees in days. The men and women of the Imperial _Sturmkorps_ are sharpened by the most intense training to be tested in the most impossible of battlefields. They are at once the Empire's backbone and heart. With these fearless warriors at his disposal, Andross's victory has become far more plausible.

 **Venomian Republic Planetary Assembly:** The last remnant of a steadily eroding democracy, the Planetary Assembly served as the Republic government's legislative branch. Each Venomian city chose one representative elected every three years, for a total of eighty members. In each cycle, Venom Prime's representative serves as the Assembly Chairman. That position most recently belonged to a lupine named Hans von Ruden, before he was executed with the rest of the Assembly.

 **Retcons**

 **Eladard:** I know I said Eladard got shit-mixed by excessive Venomian mining operations, and that its remains are now the Sargasso asteroid field. Throw both of those things in the dumpster. Sargasso's still a thing, and so is Eladard. I'll bring up Eladard in the next chapter.

 **Venom:** The Venomian government and its society's culture have been heavily retconned. The former was (mostly) detailed in this chapter, and the latter was touched on. I'll detail the rest as it comes up in the story. Believe me, you do _not_ want me to bust out an info dump here.


End file.
